Dear Baby Mojo,
I hope you're enjoying your relatively idyllic, privileged and carefree childhood. You might be pleased to note that your adult version is likewise reasonably happy with how things turned out. Like that guy you'll meet when you're eighteen? The one where it was raining out and he looked like a drowned rat? Yeah, him. Turns out your stupid little moony infatuation was right: he's a really good guy, with the added bonus of getting even better as time goes on.