Buy something in Manhattan? That's rich. (Literally.) Manhattan real estate is a luxury liner that set sail long ago, and my family and I are furiously pedaling around the marina in our little paddleboat.
And please excuse my wife, who, in her fetching expandedness, has misrepresented me. I was a suburban kid, but I'm not devoted to manicuring my lawn. All I really want is to be the lord of my own free-standing structure. My in-laws are holding a piano for us, and I want to take lessons as soon as we have the space for it. We will not bring it here, because the Democrats will take Wyoming before I subject my neighbors to my atonal keyboard mauling.
It is written somewhere in the Constitution (somewhere in the back) that every male has the right to rock out to Moving Pictures with his son. Preferably on matching drum kits.
The best answer to the living arrangement, I think we can all agree, is a happy medium: a good-sized space with access to a vibrant, urban area. The problem with New York is that there's no slow fade into its outer neighborhoods. Instead, you have city, water, swamp, and then bang--a 45-minute commute.