Recently our financial advisor told us that we needed to apply for more life insurance since we added that second kid. At first I thought he might know something I didn’t. Like, maybe second kids are more likely to kill their parents than the first kid.
Or maybe he’s reading my blog and worried that Marlo really is going to set the house on fire. Ray, we only let her play with matches in the bathtub, so, rest easy!
We first applied for life insurance back in 2006 as part of our estate planning, and you should click on that link just so that you have a reference point for what I’m about to show you. When you apply for life insurance some lovely person comes to your home, draws your blood and collects your urine to make sure that you’re not participating in illegal and/or potentially deadly activities. Hint: when they ask you if you sky dive and that happens to be what you did before breakfast, LIE. They can’t detect that in your pee!
If the insurance company is reading this right now, please know that I would not ever jump out of a plane. I get scared when I’m standing beside the railing on the second story of a mall.
The woman who drew our blood in 2006 gave both of us bruises. Now, I have had my blood drawn a multitude of times in my life. Never have I bruised as a result of this procedure, so you can understand that I made a mental note in my head of what this woman looked like. Just in case that bruise turned into a coma. So that when I came out of that coma I could point her out in a line-up.
Imagine my excitement to see this exact woman approaching my front door on Friday morning. YAY! So happy to see her! Especially since I got rejected that first time because of a urinary tract infection. Her face will always remind me of peeing fire and sternly worded rejection letters. I wonder if she realizes that this is one of the risks of working the job that she does, that some woman out there thinks of her face every time it feels like knives are pouring out of her vagina.
But I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes I fail at this, but I always try, and I thought, hmm. Maybe five years ago she was having a rough day. Maybe she’s won awards in phlebotomy. Everyone has an off day, right? You know what? BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT IS OVERRATED. At least in terms of someone coming at you with a sharp object. Then? Then the best reaction is to run.
Before she stuck the needle in my arm she remarked that I had great veins for taking blood, SO I KNOW THIS IS NOT MY FAULT. And then BOOP! Needle is in, and all of a sudden she goes, “Oops! Looks like you’re going to have a bruise!”
When she said that all I could think of was this, except she would play the part of the cat.
That was Friday. Today is Monday and it still looks like this:
If I get rejected for any reason this time and they have to come take my blood again, there is no way they are going to believe me when I say that I haven’t tried heroin.