I’ve come to the decision that if you are in the life insurance business, you need a strong sense of humor. Especially if you’re dealing with the likes of The Hubs and me.
Our life insurance journey (henceforth known as “LI”) started about 11 years ago while we were living in the town house. The Hubs answered the door one afternoon, and after a quick thought of, “hmm, we’re married and stuff and have a baby…. maybe we should look into this,” we found ourselves sitting at the dining room table with a fresh-out-of-college door to door insurance salesman.
I didn’t know these guys still existed.
(N.B.– we had a similar experience when The Hubs answered the door when a deck builder was in the area. Can I just tell you we had the most awesome deck on the back of our townhouse? And that The Hubs has never been allowed to answer the door if he doesn’t know the person on the other side by their first name. If I’m not careful, we’ll become Jehovas Witnesses.)
Anywhoo, it was a good idea, and after the kid sat with us for a great deal of time, he came back the next week with the proposal from his company. As The Hubs sat with his pen poised over the form, ready to sign the infamous “dotted line,” the insurance kid finished his sale with, “And really, you couldn’t get a better deal unless you were a member of USAA!”
The Hubs looks up at him. “Really?”
Guess who was a member of USAA.
I still feel a little bad for the guy, but really, it was a teachable moment in the best sense–Don’t sell insurance for the competition.
So, that brings us to now-ish. Over the years, we’ve changed the covereage based on things like more children and, oh, the four years when The Hubs owned a motorcycle. Several months ago, The Hubs joined the Knights of Columbus in our parish, and when you do, you get visited by a brother knight to see if they can help you with your insurance situation. (For those of you who don’t know, KofC’s mission is to take care of widows and orphans, and they are a huge insurance company, not just the guys who sell pancakes after Mass.)
We’ve met with our rep several times, and thanks be to Heaven, he’s got a good sense of humor. Which is good for him, because he has to deal with us.
To the Hubs: “Okay, let’s see how much money Anne’s going to need in the event of your death”
Hubs: “That won’t be necessary. She’ll be throwing her body on my burning corpse as the death raft is pushed out to sea.”
Me: “Right. But who’s going to take care of the kids?”
When gathering info on me to for my insurance, he says, “Okay, I reeeeeealy hate to have to ask you this,….. but….. how much do you weigh?”
I think I just gave him the hairy eyebrow and made him guess at a rough estimate.
While discussing things that would be paid for if one of us dies with small children, we discussed a list of incidentals including, but not limited to:
– Match.com membership subscription
– bar tabs
– new wardrobe of black clothing for mandatory year of mourning
– boarding school
– cost of relocation to Aruba
– the cost of granite in order to have a larger than life memorial to the deceased erected in our front yard
Honestly, it reminded me of the time when we were expecting our first and were taking childbirth classes. We had to watch a movie of someone actually giving birth, and we sat in the back of the room, cracking jokes and announcing that there was no. freaking. way. we were doing this.
But, we’re done. Our insurance is up to date, and we have no need to discuss anything macabre or serious with someone while cracking so many jokes we laugh until we have tears coming down our cheeks. Maybe we should try to sell our house or something?