Dear 13-year-old boys of the world,

One day, when you are grown and clean-cut without eyelid piercings and beer-brand tattoos, but instead with a master’s degree, a healthy respect for women, and your own hedge fund to run, and you’re looking for a woman with whom to share your abundant life, you may meet a tall, brilliant woman with classic Asian beauty. She’ll have a heart of gold, a charming quick wit, impossibly high cheekbones, glossy dark hair all the way down her back, and endless energy powered by an unmatched intake of refined sugar. She is my daughter, and she is amazing. But be warned: When it’s 150-bazillion degrees outside, our delicate flower so appropriately named Lily will not tolerate even a slight chilly nip in the air. And when nobody is looking, she’ll turn off the horrid air conditioning and switch on the heat, pushing that puppy up to 80. And you’ll remember the time a wise but damn sweaty woman wrote, “Dear 13-year-old boys of the world…”