Ruth, honey, I need to say some things to you.  We both know you’ve been having some social troubles ever since The Incident.  To make matters worse, The Man took your penthouse, effectively booting you out onto the street, like the newly-minted paupers your husband helped mint, while you’re left with a mere $2.5m to your name. I know, it’s hard out there for the wife of a pimp.  But now I read that you’re thinking of plunking down nearly half a mil on an apartment in the upper east side, and it just makes me sad.

A lot of people would be absolutely crushed if they were thrown out of their fancyhouse, and rightly so.  You, on the other hand, were just handed a golden opportunity, a chance to start fresh somewhere new.  And you threw it away for an overpriced broom closet.

Look, I’ll just get this out of the way. Every single person in New York City knows who you are, and they all hate your guts.  It would be something of a minor miracle if you could find someone willing to deliver a pizza to you, and should you find yourself lowered to taking something as pedestrian as the subway, I wouldn’t stand too close to the edge of the platform if I were you.  So why not leave?

Go to somewhere like Iowa or Kansas or something and pretend you’re living in Central Park, and just imagine what kind of house that $465K could buy you in such a place!  Why, it would dwarf your beloved penthouse.  In fact, for half a million dollars, you could buy Iowa.  The entire state could be yours, and trust me, the US government is desperate enough for money that they would sell it to you.  In Iowa, no one would know who you are.  You could get your hair did again!  Go out to eat at whatever passes for respectable dining there, Olive Garden or maybe even Carrabba’s if it’s a special occasion, and not be turned away at the door!  Seriously, if you show up in Iowa with two million dollars, they will straight up elect you queen, and you can reign over those simple cattle farmers from your spot atop the social ladder, just like the old days, except not quite.  All that could have been yours.

Instead, you’ve set your sights on a 481 square foot hovel whose sole redeeming feature seems to be having two closets instead of none.  Do  you realize that you will have to carry your soiled garments downstairs to the laundry room and do your own laundry, with other people possibly touching you?  Do you know how to do laundry, or load dishes into your dishwasher? What about scraping the dried egg off of your front door, because I have a feeling that’s going to be a daily chore for you. That’s assuming the building’s other tenants don’t vote to block you from moving in, because who could blame them? Life there is going to be tough for you. Any complaint you make will be met with a response resembling, “Yeah, I wouldn’t have to live here either if it wasn’t for your &*#@ing husband,” and you know, don’t even bother replacing your window because it is just going to get broken again later that day.

I did you a solid and looked up what that money would get you in a neighborhood just up the road from me here in Columbia.  Brand-new all brick construction, 3400 square feet, hardwood throughout, granite countertops, stainless appliances in a chef’s kitchen, 5BR, 4 bath, 3 car garage, and lake access.  And you get your very own laundry room, and the other 4 bedrooms can house the help.  Townhome living more your style? Imagine all that in a townhouse, downtown.  Sure, it’s nothing even close to Manhattan, but since you’re persona non grata everywhere except Chinatown, does living up there really do you any favors anyway?  Come on down, we can be besties, and I can even get you a hostessing gig at a nice restaurant if you want to work.