Joy the Baker

Dear Thirty Nine Year Old Joy,

     It’s 2010.  Today we’re Twenty Nine Year Old Joy.  It’s exciting.  My Facebook page is exploding with birthday wishes.  Cool but mostly gross. 

I’m making a birthday cake.  That’s what that big mess is all about.  

I’m writing you, Future Joy, just to say hello and remind you of a few things.  A lot can happen in the ten years between us.   

This is your twenty nine year old self, Joy.  You dye your hair with henna and wear tie dye tank tops.  The exposed bra strap…. well, I hope we’re not still doing that.  Not super classy… your mama taught you better than that.

Twenty nine year old Joy daydreams about being either Angelina Jolie or a butt kicking Russian spy.  Both would be ideal.  I’m going to start wearing a lot of sexy black turtleneck sweaters now… that should get us halfway to making our dream a reality.  Ten years from now we’re a Russian spy… aren’t we?  Awesome.

This year for my birthday I’d either like a kitten or a bottle of bourbon.  I’d settle for a crepe pan.  Am I being a brat?  Yes.

I have to get back to the cake I’m baking for us, Future Joy.  I hope you’re doing rad things on this day in your life.  Rad things that may or may not include wrangling small children, feeding kittens and shoe shopping… well, that’s if you haven’t gotten the whole Russian spy thing worked out for us.  I’m kinda counting on that, so….  yea.

Love,

Twenty Nine Year Old Joy