EDITOR’S NOTE: Fannie Flagg is the author of numerous New York Times bestsellers, including Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistlestop Cafe and Can’t Wait to Get to Heaven.

Attention! A warning for all women!

I am writing this from the floor of the new house I just moved into three days ago. I am lying on the floor, not only because, I am so tired that I am unable to stand, but also because I can’t seem to find my desk! Surely it must be packed in one of the thousands of unpacked boxes and crates that fill each room, including the garage. As I lie here exhausted, looking at all the unpacking yet to be done, my mind wanders back, searching for the answer to the question I have asked myself a million times in the past year. “Why in the world did I ever want to move in the first place?”

Ah! I remember now, it was because of something that my friend Richard, a charming and vital man of 82 said. When I asked him why he had moved from one wonderful house to another, his bright little eyes sparkled as answered, “I think it helps to keep you young and as you get older you should shake your life up a little, so you don’t remain stagnant.” At the time, it sounded like a wonderful idea. Having lived in the last house for almost 14 years, and wanting to remain youthful without having the face lift, I decided that I, too, would move — shake my life up a little. But moving was not as easy or breezy as he made it sound.

First there was the time and energy of fixing up the old house to get it ready to be seen. And then, of course, when you do find the new house, it has to be renovated. And with that comes meetings with contractors and architects, picking out appliances, etc. (I now know far too much about toilets, and how they flush). Then, after the old house sells, it’s time to pack it up for the big move to the new house.

Cut forward to the present: to me, the old lady lying on the floor, cramped between the boxes, under the mounds of wrapping paper, and take heed my warning before it’s too late. DON’T EVER MOVE!

But if you do plan to move, I beg you, start right this minute by throwing away, or giving away all the stuff you don’t need BEFORE the movers arrive. Believe me, no matter how prepared and calm you think you are, the day they arrive, you will quickly lose control. The moment you open the door, they will rush past you like a swarm of locusts and begin to pack, wrap, and box or crate everything on the sink, under the sink, in every drawer. They will carefully wrap every bobby pin, half-eaten pencil, jar, empty bottle, tooth pick, can of Comet, old calendar and light bulb in sight. I have spent hours unpacking things I forgot I had. What ever possessed me to think I needed those four sets of hot rollers from the sixties I haven’t used since the sixties? Or those 24 old ratty bathrobes, or the unsightly, tattered cat-clawed furniture I should have thrown out years ago.

Good God, now that I think of it where is the cat? Oh, that’s right, he’s over at the “Contented Cat Motel,” having a quiet rest and lots of good food while I am lying here asking myself why I moved all those ugly bird figurines, and all other equally hideous knick-knacks, and plus the 678 flower vases that I kept in the kitchen pantry. And who needs eight sets of bad dishes? Who knows what I will find tomorrow and believe it or not, after putting all my loved ones and myself through a year of sheer torture, the new house is only five minutes away from the old house. I could have moved all the way to China for the same amount of money.

And so, to my 82-year-old friend Richard what can I say? I should have had the face lift.