This week Rusty requested that I get a policy (life insurance) on me... should I die. I never like sentences that end with my death. I really just don't care for them. However, in the case that I should pass over unexpectedly or otherwise, someone will have to care for my babies and that will cost money. I am trying to keep my tail feathers unruffled and in their designated location.
It goes against everything in me. I am firmly in the "Do NOT put my name on it... until I am in it," grave marker category. Life insurance, wills, etched grave markers, they all seem like really freaking creepy foreshadowing. I have only had a few calls with the insurance company and am already picturing my kids gathered around my crypt with flowers.
Anyway, that aside, this morning I spoke with said insurance company. You could tell that the lady was not likely capable of free thought. They had her strictly reading from her computer. Anything else, obviously would have just been too much for her. Mid way through, I got all kinds of enjoyment from asking her random questions her computer didn't have the answers to. I thought she might actually cry. Really.
Stupid people bother me. They do. I get airy. Simple is okay. Shallow works. Stupid irks me.
This company has insurance on my entire family. They also said they had retrieved all medical records for each member of my family. Let's remember that while I tell you about our conversation.
Okay, so it starts: Name, date of birth, scary interests (sky diving, eating fire, bungee jumping, flying planes), sexually transmitted diseases (you know... are there bumps some place there shouldn't be), how many immediate family members randomly dropped dead without a gun shot wound, etc.
Then they get to something that had been triggered. I had stated a case of "Baby Blues" in 2005. The lady could see that the only child I had was born in 2002 *****PAY ATTENTION TO THIS! IT SHOWS SHE HAD OUR MEDICAL RECORDS****. How could it be "Baby Blues" 3 years later?
Me: Baby blues was the best way I could think to describe a situational depression that dealt with our baby.
Her: A situational depression?
Me: Well, my son had just been described as being so severely disabled that he would never talk or grow into anything other then a cute blond haired blob, my husband was moved 6 hours away for work, my family was going through their own hell, and I lived alone with our "blob" who also happened to be a cranky "blob" because he missed his daddy. Situational.
Her: Well, do you expect the situation to repeat itself?
Me: Uh... no.
Her: What if it did?
Me: What if the world really ends in 2012?
Her: LOOOOOOOOONG pause.
Which lead to her asking to move on and then her making this statement:
Her: HOW WAS YOUR DEPRESSION AFTER THE DEATH OF YOUR CHILD??
Me: Do you have all of our medical history in front of you?
Her: Yes, I do.
Me: You insure all of us, right?
Her: (Obviously annoyed) Yes, we do.
Me: Might I ask which child of mine has sprouted wings?
Her: (Looking through something, another long pause.) I can't find that page.
Me: Well, all 3 of them were at my table for breakfast this morning.
Her: Awwwe (I still don't know if the "Awwwwe" was for the cute family having breakfast or because she thought I had a bowl full of baby ashes at one of their places to be *with* us. )
Me: Let me assure you, no one has died.
Her: How are you handling that?
Really?? I mean really?? Are you listening to my answers???
Me: Well, it depends on the moment. Yesterday I was upset because Penelope was still with us. This morning though, it was definitely Tabor's noisy presence I was depressed over.
Her: I understand.
I had to laugh. I just didn't know how to respond anymore. "Hello stupid human... are ya in there?!!"
This is not making me feel better about having my name put on a policy talking about "in case of my death." Damn! Will she even know I'm dead? What if the computer forgets to prompt her? Or for that matter, who's to say in a few years we won't get a check saying that they are saddened by my unfortunate demise?
To someone freaked out by that kind of stuff... getting a letter with my death date on it will do me in. I assure you, that too, will cause a "situational depression." I do not wish to have my neighborhood mail Currier inform me that I not only forgot to be present for my own death... but simply missed it all together. Yikes. No. I guess it beats the alternative?? Still, is it too much to ask that they pull it together and get things right?
Surely not! I am not enjoying becoming insured. I am most foul.
Next up?? I get to be tested for HIV.... because my risk category is so high... after having 3 kids and being tested with each of the 3 kids. Who has time for risky behavior?! I don't have time to sleep! I realized just yesterday that I hadn't washed my hair in 3 days!!
At least Rusty will be happy when I am finally *insured.* Which is a thought that is not entirely lost on me. I have recently stopped taking open drinks from him. Now there is a reason to knock me off and arsenic isn't commonly tested for. My love for Dateline, and 48 hours, and Who the Bleep Did I Marry? is backfiring. Rusty slammed the door the other day and I hit the floor... "S***!! GUN SHOTS! He's coming for me!"
I, of course, do not really think he would off me, but should I go missing without explanation... REMEMBER! The spouse usually knows where the body is! :o)