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I know there are followers who yanked televisions from their homes years ago.

Were I so inclined, this would be a helluva good way for me to control when and where The Hubster takes up residence in our home.

Me? When I was single,  I had a fuzzy black-and-white television purchased from Goodwill. The Hubster? Televisions in every room — including cable connections and DVD players in all living areas, all bedrooms, master bath, patio, and the garage.

But, I digress.

It happens. Deal with it.

[Whoop! Where are my manners?]

Welcome! Have a seat on the divan. Tea? Crumpets? Clotted cream? Bubbles and squeak? Pepto? Comfy?

Splendid!

Now, where were we? Oh. Right.

I digress. It happens. Deal with it.

Please, and thank-you.

GET ON WITH THIS SHOW (For Cripes’ Sake)

Here, for your viewing pleasure (and, stretch-of-the-imagination-education) is a commercial I actually like.

.

Okay. So. Do you have the cadence down? The pause between Jake and State Farm?

Excellent.

No. I don’t know why that’s relevant, it just adds cadence to my It’s Howdy Blooper Time story.

Recently, we got a notice advising that my life insurance premium would increase on the renewal date.

I had the actuary tables. I calculated a new premium based on reduced benefits to The Hubster should something happen to me. Something like a well-planned and executed homicide should I move his plethora of televisions to the street with “Free to Good Home” signs.

So! Being a math *whiz kid*, I calculated the new premium then called MetLife to confirm my calculations.

[*It’s true. I’m a closet math and logic puzzle nerd. Dr. Sheldon Cooper would kick Amy Farrah Fowler to the curb if he knew.*]

Dagnabbit! I hadn’t factored in sales tax…

???There’s SHE LIVES tax????

I’d used the wrong effective date.

Doug…from Met Life…was the poor shmuck who handled my call.

DOUG: “No problem. You’re close. I’ll do a quick calculation for you.”

Clickity-clack-clack in the background. His ten-key calculations, I’m sure.

DOODY: “Let me guess. The premium is going up, right?”

DOUG: “No. It looks like it’s going down.”

Clickity-Clack. Clickity-clack.

DOODY: Oh! I love going down!

Silence.

No clickity.

No clackity.

Silence.

DOODY’S BRAIN: Glurg.

This, for no sane reason, leads to a Q/A segue to comments:

Q:  When will Gloria Jean Burns Richard Doody repair the hole in her brain to mouth filter?

A:  We’ll get back to you on that one. On this round, she went down without a fight.

SO! That’s it. Poor Doug…from MetLife. Do you suppose he told that story at Happy Hour that night? Any brilliant advice on what I might have said other than my oh-so-brilliant bubble-talk-glurg? Have you had similar Shut The Front Door! (where Front Door is defined as Your Mouth) experiences? Leave a note. Leave a novella. Leave fodder for a blog-jack. Just say something in comments. Please! I’m still glurging over here.

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