Dear Teen Margie…
Dear Teen Me… Margie wrote a letter to her teen self. Below is an excerpt, but to read the entire thing, CLICK HERE.
Are you reading this in The Grove at Uni High? Did you unfold this letter from the pocket of the leather jacket you got at the flea market in Florence last summer? From the trip you only got to go on because Miss Ish felt too bad to give you the D you actually deserved in Algebra II? Are you sitting on the edge of a lunch table, across from the fruit machine? Next to the one spindly tree chained up in the middle of the concrete yard? If you are, then look around you. Most of these people – almost all of them – the popular people, the ones on yearbook and the ones with the white BMWs and the ones with the Hair – most of them are not even going to have jobs when you and R stop by your high school reunion for all of five minutes. A few of them are mud wrestlers, I’m not even joking. Your geeky soul mates from your AP classes? Yeah, they’re all like, doctors. So don’t sweat not getting invited to B’s party on the boat that one time you stayed home and watched Love Boat and Fantasy Island. I know you cried, but one day, before you know it, you’re not going to even remember her name.
