I’m like a pillow

Atleast that’s what my son told me last week. His exact words were,” Mom, I love leaning on you. You have no bones. You’re like a pillow.”
My daughter and husband busted out laughing. I cried I think.
But he’s right. I am soft. And not just in the thighs.
I’m a scaredy cat. A wimp. A chicken. Basically I’m yella.
Forget coasters and fast rides, I don’t even like fast escalators.
This weekend we are heading to see family and we got an email saying there will be mopeds for us to use. As if. Mopeds. I’ll have to come up with a decent excuse to steer clear.
Sometimes when I’m on my way to work on the subway, I try and not hold on to something. To just balance. Inevitably I fold and grab the bars. And if there’s a seat. I sit. I’ll always sit.
I didn’t get the adventure gene. The thrill gene. I didn’t even get the kinda exciting gene. I’m not going to go speeding down a snowy mountain or diving in deep blue waters. Nope. I’ll be the one waiting for you when you’re done. Probably with a snack. Because you know what, I like to be cozy. And safe. And out of harms way. Anything wrong with that? Ok, as you were!

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