I have travel anxiety. A simple weekend trip to Atlanta to visit family will have me fretting over the correct number of socks and underwear (as if they don’t sell socks and underwear in Atlanta). At the airport, I check to see if I have my ID, I check to see if I have my ID, I check to see if I have my ID.
A little bit of this mania extends to whenever I go out to Collierville. I must try somewhere new (at least to me) to eat. I plan. I ask around.
On my last Collierville trek a few days ago, I chose BooYa’s.
