Ah, it’s been the happiest of relationships.  A give and take of sorts.  You give and I take.  But, apparently, that hasn’t been enough for you.  So you’re restricting me.  Putting me on a diet.  A NYTimes diet.

Forget about the happiness it brings me when I find a single moment to peruse your (online) pages.  Forget about the many times I’ve referenced you, like when I weighed in on the virtue of using butter vs. margarine, or the ludicrousness of giving kindergartners homework, and even the foolishness of texting while driving.  You just don’t care about these things.

You only want me for my money.

And so, beginning next year, I will have to peel hard earned dollars from my pocket to access your thought-provoking words and article miscellany.  For you, I suppose, I’ll consider it.  Perhaps I’ll give you my Starbucks money.

I guess we’ll have to see who treats me better.

May the best brand win.

photo credit: LizBaller