Dear Mr. President

Dear President Obama,

Stand up and run to your Situation Room.

After your actions last Monday at exactly 11 a.m. (EST), you have millions of caregivers and their care-heirs across the nation up in arms, legs and rocking chairs.

How could you? Out of all the hours in a day, you decided to deliver your 2012 Budget Address – okay, at least the name was humorous – the hour we receive our morning fix of The Price Is Right.

“He’s not Bob Barker or Drew Carey,” said my mother, despite the aging blur in her lifelong yellow-dog Democrat eyes.

“Mom, that’s the President,” I said. “Remember you voted for him, President Barack Obama.”

“Yes, baby girl, I remember the President, but he’s not playing Plinko or spinning the wheel, so what’s he doing on TV?”

“The President is giving his speech on next year’s budget.”

“How long will that take him?”

“Mom, I don’t know. Remember last night on the news when they showed copies of the budget and it was thicker than two phonebooks put together?”

“Well, it sounds like he’s reading every number in the book and I don’t understand any of it. Will he be done in time for us to see some of The Price Is Right?”

“I don’t know, Mom.”

Sometimes, caregivers can only wish and hope.

Having you, Mr. President, interrupt our schedule is this side of unforgivable. When all your hair turns grey, which by the look of you won’t be that far into the future, you will realize that schedule means everything for caregivers and care-heirs.

We get up at a certain time, have breakfast, take the day’s morning medicine, listen to the news and then watch The Price Is Right to start the day. Interruptions like doctor appointments and haircuts are properly scheduled well in advance – and around the 11 o’clock weekday morning hour.

Seriously, Mr. President, between you and me, everybody knows if you give a speech at night when everyone is actually home from work to listen, the TV networks simply delay our favorite shows, unlike the mornings when they let you trample everything but soap operas and then go straight to the noon news, as you did last Monday.

“Mom,” I said, when your speech went over 30 minutes, “it looks like he’s going to talk the whole hour.”

With the face of a rabid yellow dog, Mom snapped:

“Maybe he’ll have to go to the bathroom.”

Again, caregivers can only wish and hope.

So in closing, it’s up to you, Mr. President. Go to your Situation Room and rethink your schedule or beware of Nature calling.

Mom refuses to lend you a Depends.