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“Look! Texas!” I exclaimed in Whole Foods, pointing at the poster in the local grocery store. “Emily,” my mother ever so gently reminded me, “you’re not from Texas.”
And this is true. In fact, with the exception of a brief stint in Canada, I’ve never been in anything but an Empire State of Mind (thanks, Jay-Z). But so help me, I love Texas. Or rather, I love Texans.
No, I do not live there, and no, I don’t think I ever could/would (um, you really really need to know how to drive there). But I get along freakishly well with Texans. Consider the evidence.
I’m not saying that all Texans are wonderful people. And this may only apply to Texans who make it out of Texas (though my Texan friends’ friends are quite lovely, too). And no, this doesn’t excuse the fact that the Texas Board of Education is banning textbooks/history/knowledge. But! Don’t let ‘em mess with you, Texas. You are the Lone Star in my heart.