Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Lately I've been doing a little "where's all our money going?" inventory. That means I have to dredge-up account passwords or call customer service representatives. Oh the things I'd rather do! Like maybe try on bathing suits at Target - on a Monday, the day after I do things like dunk each bite of pizza in ranch.
And one of the calls I made was to our life insurance company. What a weird call that was. At first I asked about my policy, and things were going good. I totally held it together. (Read The Vacuum Lady.)
But then I asked about my husband's policy. And that's when Jake the representative questioned me, "Ma'am, if I may ask, why are you calling about your husband's life insurance policy today?"
What? Who asks about that sort of thing? Okay fine, life insurance reps do. But why? Does he think I'm considering...(whisper)...muurrrder? And I'm weighing the pros and cons? Should I...Shouldn't I?
So I stammered out, "I, uh...seeing about money and uh...just checking in with you guys. You know, wondering if it's a tax write-off...or not." (It's not.)
Whew, that was close. Then I thought, "Oh please, Jeff. Don't die anytime soon. Or anytime ever. They'll trace back to this phone call and find motive. And I'd have to get out of here...fast! Pack my bags!"
Which the very thought is dumb. Hellooo, I love the guy. Even more so after reading Pioneer Woman's cookbook over the weekend. I, too, have my very own Marlboro man, you see - minus the hat and chaps. And he is wanted not dead, but alive.
Sooo, Jake. The representative. I have a few questions for you. Where were you at 4:45 a.m. when I reminded my husband to drive safely - in the rain - on his morning commute? Hiding in the closet, trying on a pair of his khakis? I don't think so.
And where were you when I actively wished my husband to not die by handing him heart-healthy fish oil softgels - "swallow these!" Or when he plays basketball - "don't break your nose!" Or when he's rearranging the garage - "careful about your back!"
Oh gosh, I hope I'm not mothering my husband. But as long as I don't chase after him with a Metamucil concoction to cure what ails him, I think I stay within normal, "concerned wife" limits.
I just worry sometimes. It runs in the family. Not only about Jeff, but my kids and money and...other stuff. Will my 200,000-plus-miles Chevy make it another year? Will non-organic apples really harm my family? Will The Bachelorette finally find true love? (This week's trains-of-thought, anyway.)
But I heard it said that it's easier to sing your worries away than to reason them away - which works double-duty when sung in the direction of heaven. La la la, mi mi mi, figaro figaro!
And Philippians 4:4 says to rejoice in the Lord two times in a row: "Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice!" That's in the Lord, mind you. Not in circumstances. And definitely not in life - or wife - insurance.