Bougie Follow up: The Dear John Letter (with a twist)

So if you've been hanging around BnB for a minute, you know the story of JohnK. His fiancée withheld the cocoa for months and then shared it while they were on tropical vacay all tipsy and whatnot. Unfortunately, she said the wrong name at the exact wrong time. Then he figured out why and broke off the engagement. Then she tried to sue him for all sort of nonsense. The entire saga is here. I had the pleasure of reconnecting with John a few days ago while he was visiting Texas trying to decide between moving to Dallas, Houston or Austin. Ironically, on that same day I had received an email from his ex-fi, Tracey. She wanted to tell  "her side of the story." 

He was dying to see it. I handed him my BlackBerry to read. As he was reading it, he said, "I don't even want to know how she found out about the blog post. Are you going to publish this?" 

"No, I don't support rampant ratchetery and tomfoolery from people that hurt my friends." 

He nodded, "Can I answer her? On your blog? We could call it my closure letter." My eyes lit up. Oooh. That sounded like good blog fodder. So without further ado... John's response (with a few of my edits) to the five-page "it's not my fault" letter from his ex-fiancée Tracey...

Hey Trace,

Just read the letter you wrote to Michele. At first only one word came to mind: Wow. But then I sat with it for a second and decided I have answers to some of your questions.

I haven't seen you since you came by the office and made a scene in the lobby. Sorry about that overzealous security guard. He didn't mean to bounce you out of the building like that but when they say "Ma'am you really have go" that means you really have to go. I know you have problems comprehending what people say to you from time to time thinking that the rules apply to everyone else but you. Any luck getting the security company to reimburse for the grass stains on your pants? 

I understand you were angry that I took back the car. No, I can't call it stealing because it belonged to me. I bought it. I possess the title. Do you know what's ironic? Let me tell you. When you sued me, I had to go to court. And after everything was thrown out and the judge basically laughed us out of the courtroom, I had to cut across a couple of parking garages to get to my car. It wasn't until I walked past that shiny little navy Audi coupe that I remembered. I bought that for you last summer when your Honda was acting up and I still thought you were going to be Mrs. Kendall. So see, if you hadn't sleep around on me, lied, got caught, got broken up with and then tried to stick me for my paper (RIP Biggee) I never would've seen the car. Now that's irony. Or poetic justice or one of those karma type instances. 

So yes, I did send my cousin Royce to retrieve my property in the middle of the night. To use one of your colorful phrases, "What's mine is mine." And really, my sister Pam deserves it so much more than you. I know she always hated your guts and I do apologize that she came by your house beeping and honking. But like you always said - I can't control who I'm related to. 

I think we both know there's nothing left to say or do here. With that 20/20 hindsight, I'm going to agree with you that I was "a distant, workaholic, control freak" - sure, I could see where some of that is true. Funny how you never mentioned any of this before though like when your hand was weighed down by four carats and clutching the keys to a brand new German car. I mean I could call you a lying cheating mercenary drama queen but where would that get us? Exactly where we are now. 

Yes, I am moving to Texas. For many reasons. First and foremost, it's a promotion. Also, have you seen what houses are going for there? Did you know there's no state income tax? There's a place in Dallas that has a tequila bar. A. Tequila. Bar. Over 50 kinds of tequila in one place. Houston has a Pappadeaux on every other corner. (If you don't know what one is, thank me later) Tex-Mex food is a religious experience. And the women in Texas... well I'll just be nice and say none of them are you. And that's a very good thing. 

All best,

John

Whelp! Tracey, I don't know you but I did read most of your lengthy-azz letter. Nothing in there explained your low-rent move of bumpin' and a-grindin' on your Pilates instructor. Methinks you take personal training a little too personally. If you need a "takeaway' as you so eloquently put it... it's this: move on. In the words of Smokey from the perennial classic "Friday" - you got knocked the f*** out! Bougie bites back, babe. Don't come round here no' more, ya hear?

BougieLand, if you had a chance to write a closure letter to your ex, what would you put in it? Would you send it? Think Tracey will go away now? Thoughts, comments, insights?