How to Rid Yourself of the Insurance Salesman

Somewhere in the year 2002.....

Let me preface this by saying- I was 22, and it had been a really long year!  My husband had been either deployed or simply floating around in the Gulf of Mexico for most of the year, and I was at home with a 2 yr old little boy.  My sweet-sweet-now 19 year old boy, Christopher.  Chris, as he is known to everyone but myself and his father.  I didn't name him Chris, dammit.  I names him Christopher. Anyway....squirrel moment. 

Surprise Parties, Fun Parties, Passion Parties were all the rage.  BOB (battery operated boyfriend) parties are what they really were if you want the truth.  You know- the boyfriends that don't talk back, are always ready to go when you are, and guarantee that you will ALWAYS finish before they do! By the time my husband made it home from deployment I owned stock in that company.  I single handedly kept the rubber dick industry in business that year. 

For the sake of clean conversation (and because I'm sure some of you people are delicate beings) we will now call these "female mood enhancers."  I was especially excited about my latest shipment of "female mood enhancers" because the brand new, state of the art, super duper, make your toes curl up to your belly button, dong- would be in that box!  This bad boy was the be all end of all the "female mood enhancers."  It twisted....it turned, it was glow in the dark, and had 50 speeds with a V8 supercharged turbo engine in it.  Okay, so I might have made the V8 engine part up but the point is- IT WAS BAD ASS!

Now that you're picturing the 8th Wonder of the World-

I kept all my treasures hidden safely underneath my bed. DH (dear husband) would be home in a few short weeks and my lovely's would be ready to go for a test drive.  Seriously.  I promise I looked at them, drooled a little bit, and put them safely back in their box. Especially V8.  I'd talked him up to the hubby and was excited to experience this miracle together.

All was nice and sunny in the world when one day, Mr. Insurance Salesman knocked on my door.  Mind you, up until this year, about six months ago to be exact, I had a really big problem with saying no.  God forbid you came to my door selling a Kirby or a Rainbow Vac because I'd be the poor sucker that ended up buying one to pay your mortgage each month!  At least my floors would be clean.

Squirrel.

I felt bad for Mr. Insurance Salesman who insisted he just needed a moment of my time.  He was working on his sales pitch and needed to practice.  Yea, I fell for it.  I opened the door and invited him in.  "Hi, how are you? My name is blah blah blah blah.....and how would you like to be set up for the rest of your life should your loved one pass away?" I don't remember all the crap he was trying to push on me because quite frankly I was worried about the whereabouts of my two year old.  I felt like five minutes was enough practice for this guy so I began trying to shew him out the door.  I informed him that my husband was sin the Navy and God forbid something happen, I had life insurance out the hooha. This man was not to be deterred.  "Well ma'am, it never hurts to be prepared.  You can't ever be overly prepared." (Insert flashy cheesy salesman smile)  As I consistently tried to explain to him that if my husband were to depart this earth I would have plenty to live off of thanks to good ole' Uncle Sam, he continued his sales pitch.  Once again- my mind drifted off to my misplaced two yr old.  When what to my wondering ears did I hear?  THE 8TH WONDER OF THE WORLD buzzing up the hall! V8 was about to make his first public appearance. 

Christopher was singing into the strobe lighted microphone for all he was worth.  Elmo's World was now the theme song for V8;  I could feel the blood literally drain from my face.  Sweat broke out on my upper lip, and my butt had a death grip on the couch.  OH MY GOD!  Christopher came straight up to the salesman putting on a show. La la la la, la la la la, Elmo's World.  (You're singing it now aren't you?)

Here's how the next few minutes unfolded.

Insurance Salesman- "Oh, look at what a cute little boy.  What have you got there little man?  Let me take a look."  Christopher hands him the "microphone."

"Oh look, it's a microphone with a light on the end."

Christopher- "Sing! Sing!"

By now, I know my fate is sealed.  It's only a matter of time before this guy figures out what he's singing into.

"This is such a cool microphone littler feller.  Oh what does this button do?  I bet it turns the volume up, huh?" 

Just as I am about to reach for the microphone and hopefully save myself from unbelievable embarrassment, he turned the volume up!

Bzzzzzzz..........(he tries to turn it off)  Bzzz.bzzz.bzzzz......(he tries hit the button again) All he is doing at this point is shuffling through the 50 functions of this thing.  Finally he tosses it to me like it was a hot coal.  Before I could bat an eyelash he was out of his seat and headed to the door. 

"Ma'am I can tell this is a bad time for you."  He's not even making eye contact at this point.  "I'll just leave my card right here and you call me when it would be a better time."   Whoosh!  Like a fart in the wind, he was gone.

Christopher- "Sing mama!"

I'm not even gonna lie.  I certainly wanted to sing because he saved me from buying insurance I didn't need just to get this guy off my couch.  Instead of singing, I took his microphone in exchange for some gummy worms. 

Wonder if I could get him to put on that same American Idol performance when the Kirby man comes knocking?

Thirty....Something......

Thirty wasn't too bad.  Don't get me wrong- I wasn't jumping up and down to hit the big Three-OH! My cake actually said "Happy 29th Anniversary!" PERFECT!  I handled 30 and it's subsequent friends quite easily. I took it just as well as any woman does I imagine.  To help the sting just a little, I bought a new car. 

I clearly remember my 30th birthday dinner with my lovely little family.  Jesse, Christopher, Kimber, and I all went to this new restaurant I'd been dying to try right on the beach in Waikiki. Wait- before I dive into this story it's important for you to know that Ms. Kimber Leighann is a puker.  She was just  little over one year old.  Why we decided to take a baby with a puking problem to a nice restaurant is beyond me. 

We made it through dinner and we were in the home stretch.  Instead of traditional birthday cake I opted for a creme brulee'.  I'd never had one before and since buying a new car I had two reasons to celebrate.  Go big or go home, right?  I had stuffed myself with dinner but made sure to save some room for this mouthwatering delight. 

When the dessert finally arrived my husband and I simply leaned toward it and gazed at it.  It was seriously almost too perfect to touch.  I'm lost in the beauty of this holy wonder as I hear it.  I hear the gurgle of what is about to be a mega eruption to the left of me.  To my horror, I look over at Kimber who is absolutely green!  GREEN I tell you.  Battle Stations, Battle Stations!  Man your Battle Stations!  In a normal situation (if anything about this situation is normal) Christopher would be stripping by now.  We have our drill perfected.  When we heard the ominous sound of a pending eruption, Christopher would quickly discard his shirt and shove it under the her chin like a lightening bold.  I guess we were training him young for a life as a male stripper.  As Christopher caught the puke with his shirt, her daddy or I would grab her and attempt to get her to a safe outlet; bathroom, trash can, flower pot...nothing was safe when we were desperate. 

Unfortunately we had never had a to develop a RRP aka Restaurant Regurgitation Plan. We couldn't very well fall into our normal plan of attack in the middle of the restaurant. We sat there motionless....helpless.  My husband growled at me, "Get her to the bathroom!!"  Just as I am picking her up out of the damned high chair (what idiot tied her in??!), she begins to erupt.  No, I'm lying to you.  Erupt is too polite a word. She projectile vomited.  Exorcist style! Exploded could even be a more fitting adjective here.  Guess what her target was?  Let me tell you that her aim was dead on.  She hit my creme brulee' like it was a bulls-eye. Poor thing never had an opportunity to be someones dessert. Not a snowballs chance in hell. 

As I stumbled down the walk of shame with my puke covered baby, I lamented over my lost creme brulee'.  Well technically it wasn't lost- just covered in chunks of chicken nugget and french fries. 

Did I mention that ten-ish years later I have STILL not eaten a creme brulee!?