The “financial consultant” is dead to me

Or he will be, if I ever see him again. He just called and tried to weasel himself a visit to stop by and take life insurance applications. I asked if he could give us a quote, and who the company would be, and he wouldn’t tell me. I said that I couldn’t make an appointment without knowing these things, and he asked why. I said “We aren’t sure we want to use your services at all.” Suddenly, he had quotes for me. “Was that so hard,” I asked?

When he asked to speak to my husband instead, the top of my head came off. My brain rocketed out of my skull, like the crust of Mount Vesuvius. I woke up on the kitchen floor, drooling, brains impastoed on the front of the stainless appliances. I clawed desperately for the phone to call 911, but he was still on the other end, trying to distract me by changing the subject to whether I enjoy nice weather. I heard a coffee drink order being screeched in the background. That can only mean that this fucker is one of those fuckers who works out of a Starbucks! Fucker.

I slammed down the phone and scooped up my brains as best I could. Then I went online and found the same policy he was trying to sell me for less. Was that so hard?

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