If You Need Me Just Look Under My Bed

So, I’ve been thinking of where I want to retire.  Go East Old Wrinkly woman, go east?  Or venture West back to the  Balboa Rockies, or was it Rocky Balboa?  I could go South because I love hush puppies, but then you have to take them out for a walk multiple times a day.  And finally there is True North, but you need a compass for that and I don’t like pointy things.

No, I have decided that the best place for me to reside is simply under my bed.  I have Panaphobia you see.  This is a fear of everything, and in particular natural disasters.  Just a few weeks ago I spoke to my oldest daughter, Rachel, who explained that when she got to work, there was a bomb squad on the premises.  But "not to worry."  Who says that to a mother?  Then I called my youngest daughter, Ali,  who explained she couldn’t talk to me because they were having a terror attack drill and she had to walk down 18 flights of stairs.  But "not to worry."  The snipers that guard her workplace would protect her.  Who says THAT to a mother who worries about everything from adult acne to Food Network chefs who don’t know what to do with the ingredients in their mystery basket?

So if you need me, you can check under my bed.  I welcome company, but just one at a time.  Bring your own flashlight, pillow and munchies.  I promise to come out for joyous occasions like reruns of “I Love Lucy,”  and an occasional bathroom run.   Like now, except I think I am stuck.  Call 911 or TemPurpedic.   I told you I have a fear of natural disasters and the worst disaster of all is a full bladder!