RENT-A-NANA

I have a plan that will make us MILLIONS. Millions, by golly!

*Sniffle*

I also have a cold. A hacky, sneezy, chappy, two-tissue box-a-day, nasty whore of a cold. (And riddle me this. Why do colds always give me a Super-Sized Afro? Does this happen to anyone else or am I the only one jamming snowball-sized snotrags, as well as a hair pick into my purse . . . or back pocket, if I'm feeling extra groovy.)


Runny nose + high temperature = Disco Fever

Although I do love me the Sudafed, Non-Drowsy and Drowsy, upping and downing more than fat Elvis in the bedazzled jumpsuit, I need something else. Or someone, really.

I need my mom.

Mom. I really need my mommy. To give me hot tea and buttered toast. To tuck me in snug. To turn off the lights and shut my bedroom door and gently tell my family, "You're mother's sleeping, sweeties, so please . . . STAY THE FUCK OUT!"

Instead I'm the mom, so there is no rest. My kids care about three things--eating cereal, saying the word "poop," and breaking shit. Not being Apple Jacks, excrement, or glass lamps, my cold is irrelevant.

Here is where my plan comes in. I'm starting a business. A service, if you will. People hire nannies, don't they? Well, let's push the envelope. Let 'em hire nanas. You know, sweet old ladies who come in and care for moms who are sick? These grandmas-for-hire will watch the kids, serve tea, and toast bread all at once! RENT-A-NANA is a granny goldmine, a white-haired windfall, a geriatric jackpot!

In fact, I've already begun the application process. As a test run, I'm choosing one of these lovely ladies to care for me. Who shall I choose? Let's take a peek.


She looks like a pistol, sure, but a bit chatty. I'm looking for silence, carbs, and an indecent amount of butter--not Crockpot recipes and "Judge Judy" play-by-plays. Pass.


Now this is better. An eager beaver, this one. She's already working on my cuppa.


Aw man, now this gal's gone and poisoned it. Yeah, I'm not falling for your tampered Tetley, lady. No thanks to the Earl Gray with two lumps of arsenic. After you, sweetcheeks.


Ah, this fine grandmama's a speaking my language: "Tea, dearie? Fuck tea. Nana's making you a hot toddy. Oh, and your toast needs waaay more butter. What are you, on a diet? Silly young girl. You can bounce a quarter off your tush." DING, DING, DING! We have a winner.

Yeah, RENT-A-NANA is going to make me millions. Just you wait. It will be huge. HUGE, I tell you. Ill moms everywhere will be thanking me for the clutch elderly hook-up.

Of course, lest we go the way of Annie Wilkes, there will always be a screening process. . . .