Y’all, it’s possible this post is going to be a teensy bit cranky. Just a teensy weensy.

So, before we begin, I will insert this:

And voila. A smiling Corgi will cover a lot of ills, I tell you.

And now, *slaps hands together* let us carry on with the grump.

About six months ago, as bedtime, my husband informed me that he was going to take a life insurance policy out on me.

Don’t worry, this is not the grumpy part. But, before I actually dive into that, let me ask you something,

I ask you, dear reader, WHY does my husband decide to make these sorts of statements when we are both lying down, PRONE, past ten o’clock pm? Bedtime, for him, is a time to discuss filing our taxes, or the strange hiss/rattle that the back end of the car is making, or the strange hiss/rattle his backend is making, or what Trump said recently. All of these are things he likes to discuss when I am PRONE.

The nerve.

Ok, let’s break this down: Prone Momsie = Near Coma, Come Lord Jesus I’m TIRED, Momsie. Leave me da heck alone.

I do realize this makes the marriage bed sound sooooooo exciting. Perhaps I need to add here about how our marriage bed is also “Where the Magic Happens,”
but that’s another post for another day.

Plus, let’s just be realistic. Whenever anyone refers to their bedroom as “Where the magic happens,” I get even more snarky than I thought humanly possible.

BUT I DIGRESS.

The news about the life insurance did have me at, “Oh no he’s trying to kill me and get a million dollars” for about four minutes, then I remembered that with our standard of living he would probably make enough to cover the funeral expenses and maybe buy a new Earthway 2030Pplus Deluxe Lawn and Garden, 65 Lbs Fertilizer Drop Spreader, and that’s it.

Well thank YOU big insurance company for taking my husband’s Earthway 2030Pplus Deluxe Lawn and Garden, 65 Lbs Fertilizer Drop Spreader away.

All the man wants is a damn lawn that is well fertilized, and you are denying him that. Which, clearly, is un-American.

Yes, I shall explain.

It all started with the questionnaire.

I love questionnaires. As one who is in recovery, I LOVE  them. Know why? Cuz I always get to gleefully put a big fat X next to “NO! NO WAY! I do NOT!” next to the “Do you drink alcohol?” question.

This is so fun! I put a big huge X and I kinda linger there and smile to myself, and okay, I know, I take fun where I can get it, people.

Other things I get to say NO to on the questionnaire! So exciting!

• Crack use
• Smoking
• Smoking and doing crack at the same time
• Foul language
• Endless youtube sessions about dogs were saved from the streets of Peru and now live a happy and serene existence without mange.

Ok, it’s possible the last two were not on THIS questionnaire. But this question was:

“Have you ever abused alcohol?”

Yep. Yes. Yepper. I did. I abused it. Big time. No light banter here, alcohol and I were in a very twisted relationship and there were breakups and bad choices yelling and lots of things. And so, I checked “YES” and felt good. Joyous. Free, perhaps. I was being honest in all  my affairs.

So that’s when the letters started arriving.

The letters were polite and full of questions. They asked things like:

• When did you start abusing alcohol?
• Where?
• How?
• Why?
• Do you have photographic evidence?
• Can you offer any sort of proof that you are, as of now, TOTALLY AND COMPLETELY OKAY?

Ok, I added that last one, but I get their point. I do. It’s just that I ANSWERED all of these letters, that came, weekly, to my mailbox, all asking the same things, and I got a bit tired of it. In fact, after a while, there were three thoughts that started to creep into my brain:

1. This is what they do to murder suspects. They just keep asking them the same questions and they’re waiting. Just waiting FOR ME TO CRACK.
2. Why do they keep repeating themselves? Are they on crack?
3. Maybe…I could, maybe… just lie.

I did not lie. I kept filling out the forms, even when the last one came, asking for dates and times certifying my alcohol abuse and when it started (heck fire people. Like, I don’t know… DID YOU READ MY BOOK?).

And I would mutter things like, “Yes. YES. I am a FREAKING ALCOHOLIC. YES I WILL CHECK THE BOX AGAIN. Yep. That’s ME. You got me there, BIG INSURANCE COMPANY.”

And I would take a breath and say the serenity prayer and slap a stamp on the letter to the Big Insurance Company.

By the way, you will note I am above directly naming this Big Insurance Company. No. I have more class than that. I shall not divulge it.

But it rhymes with SCREWDENTIAL. 

Ahem.

Ok, so today, I got a letter that is “unable to approve you for coverage at this time.”

Guys. I am not an “unable to approve” kinda girl. Like, my first college choice was a go. (Sure, it was the state university but they said YES to me, ok?)  And I was first in my class to get a job. In general,  I have been YESSED for YEARS because I am a GOOD PERSON AND PEOPLE DO NOT SAY NO TO MOMSIE.

(True, I did not get married until 36 but that was because I said “NO” FIRST to a lot of other offers and also Jesus was protecting me, big time. Thank you, Jesus.)

It had me all flustered. Big Insurance does not like me. Me, who is inherently likeable on very many levels. I want to write Big Insurance Company a letter in which I explain how utterly wonderful I am. And, did you know? I wrote a book, nay TWO (second one out in August!) about this whole alcoholic thing and truly? Utterly? I will NEVER EVER DRINK AGAIN, OK? YOU CAN TRUST ME.

But then, I remembered something.

Um, I am alcoholic. And, I will not drink today, yes. I will not. But tomorrow? Well, tomorrow I will tackle then, but who knows?

I could end up in a drinking mess any moment, within a breath, with any sort of sad feeling or rejection or moment of celebration or any of it. Yes, I have some years of sobriety now, and I do have the Super Sobriety Girl cape and I wear it on the daily. But really?

I could drink again.

It’s a daily decision that people in recovery make. So thank you, Big Insurance Company, for the reminder. Really. No snark. No attitude. No fuss. I get it and I thank you for my daily dose of humility and reality. It hurt, but I get it.

I’ll shall go forth and buy the Earthway 2030Pplus Deluxe Lawn and Garden, 65 Lbs Fertilizer Drop Spreader myself, thank you very much. 

Now I’m off to figure out how to set up a Go Fund Me for the best freaking fertilizer drop spreader on the planet.

And also? To conclude, I googled “lawn fertilizer images” and am posting this, because it’s awesome: