Not that he's complaining, but my brother George pays about $300 a year more in property tax for his home in Oakville than I do for my place in Riverdale.

Sure, with real estate being what it is, my old vinyl-sided semi would likely fetch maybe 25 per cent more than his decade-old much larger solid brick detached.

Still, I find it hard to appreciate the injustice of his higher tax load, or that of any mini McMansion-owning suburbanite with a two-car garage and remote control thingie.

Especially right now, as my tax burden climbs while my surroundings literally crumble.

From the ancient sewer pipes, which also travel beneath the office towers where GO-trainers work, to the potholed roads, well-worn by commuters coming off the DVP at Bloor-Danforth or hitting Greektown for a souvlaki dinner, the city's infrastructure, most of which is maintained by Toronto property owners, serves everybody in the GTA who comes here for work or play.

The 905ers enjoy the Rogers or Air Canada Centre. They love Taste of the Danforth. They jam the CNE.

They don't have to pay for the crews who pick up their litter or the cops who police the hordes in the club district on the weekends. They get it all for free.

And so our air is polluted by their exhaust. Our streets are congested with their minivans. Our subway is jammed with their kids who come in to attend university.

And yet, judging by the noises coming from some mayors, pundits and suburbanites, people expect a free ride from Toronto.

Well, let me tell you something about my house – all five metres wide of it. Built just after World War I, it paid its dues a long, long time ago. No farm land is being torn up, no asphalt being poured, no shiny new services are coming in for me.

In my house, you can't flush the toilet while somebody is showering, for fear of scalding.

It would cost me thousands to get new pipes from the main line to my home. What's more, because the city can't install a metre unless I dig up the front for those pipes, I get taxed more than $700 a year for water.

And I live alone.

And I don't even have a lawn.

This year, I the city charged $157.53 so I could park in my tiny front garden – for a car I hardly ever use because I walk almost everywhere. If I had a second car, as George does, it would cost $25.91 a month to leave it on street, assuming I could find a spot.

When I do drive in town – usually for large purchases – I get dinged by the city's parking metres or Green P lots. There are no freebie mall car wastelands here.

If I don't get back to the car in time, wham! Those parking enforcement officers slap me with a $30 ticket.

Generally, we live much more efficiently, and are kinder to the environment, in downtown Toronto.

Here in Riverdale, we are cheek-by-jowl or on top of each other, in densely packed houses with so little space between them that my neighbours are freaking over where to put those honking huge new recycling bins.

Me, I'm lucky. I have a two-metre wide driveway, shared of course, that forms a third of my vast six-metre frontage.

Meanwhile, my brother has a pie-shaped lot, with more than double my frontage on the street and quadruple at the back.

Oh yeah, he can park at least five cars.

So you want to wah-wah-wah about your taxes?

Cry me a low water pressure river.

Antonia Zerbisias is a Living section columnist. azerbisias@thestar.ca. She blogs at thestar.blogs.com.

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