It's not you, it's me. Really it is me. I don't want to break up with you... you complete me, you are the peanut butter to my jelly, the salt to my pepper, the HEB tortilla to my fajita. Alas.... the time has come, although I hoped it never would, we have to go our separate ways. Stupid Louisiana.
We had some really great times together. I spent my teenage years gathering carts in your parking lot and flirting with the older cashier boys (whatever it got me two prom dates, don't hate). I spent my college years buying cheap wine and cookie dough for girls nights in your hallowed aisles. There was also that time that I tweeted/posted/shared when Business Insider called you AMERICA'S BEST GROCERY STORE. Gosh, even Reese and I had one of our first dates in your precious store in which we accidentally wore matching outfit and the cashier laughed at us. Heck, WE EVEN SHARE A BIRTHDAY! See I told you it was me NOT YOU.
This isn't good bye forever. I plan on cheating on the local grocery stores. I am going to be importing all of your Texas goodness whenever I can. I have already put several emergency plans into place -- there are currently 40 tortillas in the freezer!
PS: wanna open up a store in Louisiana? I would love you even more than I already do.