My head hurts: We finish a two-hour meeting with our insurance agent. No, not the one responsible for giving us endless grief over the break-in, but the guy who handles my life insurance. While I’m not saying that all insurance agents are demon spawn, I can’t help but detect the slightest tang of sulfur in the air as we talk. (Then again, that may have been the tofu talking…)
Insurance and investment laws have undergone a massive change in the past few years, leaving us mere mortals confused and frustrated about an already-complex process. But by listening carefully and crunching a few numbers, I manage to establish the following:
- My retirement plan is: don’t retire. Ever. Alternately, Gill can win Lotto.
- No matter which medical policy carrier you go with, they will always find a way to exclude a claim. The fine print somehow proves that anything related to my body is a “pre-existing condition.”
- All assets look better in shekels.
- All deficits look better in dollars.
- Insurance salesmen eat their young.
At one point, The Dark One starts explaining options for in-home care. “For example, if you can’t dress yourself, can’t feed yourself, can’t move about on your own from room to room…” Hmmm, I think, pretty much like Nadine. Well, she can, but why should she bother when she has two idiot humans who are happy to shlepp her up and down the stairs and cater to her every whim? I snap back to attention in time to be regaled with further visions of impending doom.