Dear Amber,

During the formative stages of our life, we always encounter a person who we personify as the Queen Bitch of Bitches. You, my dear, fit this description.

When I went off to boarding school, it was mostly to get away from you and that whole hick inbred town in Mississippi that had persecuted me so much for being poor, dirty, gay, and quite honestly, the smartest kid in the school. You can just imagine how I've enjoyed moving to Boston, getting my bachelor's degree, travelling Europe, having a higher yearly income than you could have in 10 years, publishing a book, and meeting a wonderful guy in England whom I love very much.

Can you believe it? Right now, I could buy and sell your peasant ass.

Do you remember how you used to make fun of me in junior high? Saying how I "smelled" and how my mom was "poor white trash" and how I was a "nerdy faggot"? Well, it all comes full circle, you reap what you sow, you uneducated, racist, homophobic, inbred, fat piece of shit.

How are your babies? See, when I got out of high school, I took every insult that you and the rest had ever thrown at me and used them to make myself better. I finished college, I started graduate school, I started writing, and I got the job of my dreams. So, when I saw your pregnant ass walking in the local grocery store during my little visit to see my mother, I got quite a laugh at you in your cheap, stained, and holey $3 granny gown from the Thrift Store, holding a snotty-nosed baby and making your purchases with food-stamps. Nice husband. He looks like quite a yokel.

When are people going to learn that what goes around comes around? You might have had richer parents than I did growing up, you might've had nicer clothes, you might've been more accepted since you were straight, and you might've been the "preppie," but nothing lasts forever. It's actually quite sad that you're still clinging on to high school because those will be the only days where you're considered "cool." Well, guess what? You're not cool anymore. You're outdated. You're in your twenties. Why not act like a responsible and mature adult and just leave me alone? Seriously.

I would've left the whole thing alone and just continued my blissful ignorance of you, but when I was told that you had been talking about me to people during my visit home and then went up to my mom and told her I looked like rich, snobby Eurotrash (Jesus, girl, don't you ever grow up? We're in our twenties now, I think we can just get over it and move on with our lives, right?) I felt it was time to tell you once and for all where you can go and how to get there.

You, my dear, can go to Hell. Easiest way is to just continue your trailer trash life the way it is right now.

And, seriously, let it go. Mmmkay? I'll send you a postcard and an autographed copy of my book from London sometime.

Cheers,

X.

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