There’s no easy way to break the news to you, so I’m just going to come out and say it: these last four months we’ve spent together, they’ve been great—like really awesome. The parties, the plays, the pooches—I mean, I can hardly go for a run outside without tripping over a yelping Yorkie—they’re all part of your romantic charm.
But there’s someone else. And it’s not just his size and his swagger. It’s not that he's picked up four seats in the House recently (and you lost 2—not that I’m counting). It’s not that his governor is way cooler—and did I mention better looking? OK, plain dreamy—than yours. And it’s not even that I love the prairie landscapes and horses more than the smell of exhaust and urine and the occasional apartment mouse.
It’s just that I’m beginning to realize that—well, there’s no delicate way to put this: Texas would make life so much better for me than you would.
With the money I spend on the second floor walk up that we live in—which is practically in the east river, but never mind—did you know that I could buy a small ranch in Texas? Or if I saved up enough money for a dingy $300,000 studio on the upper west side with you, I could actually buy a beautiful 2,200 square feet home in a Dallas suburb that has an excellent public school system, or this beautiful colonial in the heart of an elite San Antonio neighborhood? Guess I won’t have to worry about spending $35,000/year on my kids for private schools in New York City anymore!
What’s that? You think I’ll miss your elegant shops, nightlife and culture? Well think again. San Antonio, with its vibrant river walk, is a stone's throw away from Austin, its arts scene, its festivals, and its Whole Foods. And that 2,200 square feet Dallas home I’m going to buy one day is:
3.6 miles from a Barneys New York, Versace and plenty of other luxury shops. We’ve got our share of restaurants sporting $50 veal entrees. We’ve got $354 million worth of brand-spanking-new arts venues, a killer sculpture center and a football stadium big enough to create its own weather. Plus we’ve got the world’s third-busiest airport with nonstops to 140 cities.
And you, my dear, will always be a $200 airplane ride away.
Oh and did I mention Texas doesn’t expect a share of my income—while you knock me over the head twice, with a city tax and a state tax? Is that really fair?
So that’s why I’m breaking up with you. We can be friends for a few more months—maybe even years. We can still hang out, and I’ll still be around. But you should know that I now have my eyes set elsewhere.
With waning love, and a depleting pocket book,