So there I was, sitting nervously in the bank manager's very public, open-plan, shared office, telling the nice stranger on the phone all about my medical history. "Where was the mole, did you say?", she asked. I ended my reply with an embarrassed laugh, prompting the disembodied voice to giggle. This wasn't exactly the response I needed to put me at ease, but it is better than the cold, professional silence, that sometimes greets me, when I actually try to make people laugh. Still, having to go through every ailment with the insurance lady, in front of the young man, who busied himself and may not have heard anything, was not something I hope to do again any time soon.
I probably won't have to. You see, my husband and I were sorting out our mortgage and also applying for incapacity insurance for it. In other words, should one of us become too ill to work, our mortgage payments will still be covered, and then some. I think. Honestly, I tried to listen, I really did, but it was so boring, that I just could not remember all the details. I was, however, desperately trying to remember all the details of my past ailments, just in case they were relevant to the medical questions they asked me. I don't even think all my answers were needed, but having heard about people whose life-insurance claims are turned down due to them never having told the insurers about some ancient, unrelated illness has made me really paranoid.
If I had ever worried further about finances, it turns out I can always rely on the Post Office. Increasingly, the Post Office workers try to sell me things, when I am just trying to post some letters. The other day, I had finished sending some items, when the cashier asked me whether I would like a Post Office Master Card. "No thanks, my husband has one", I replied, breezily. "We do 0% on balance transfers for 18 months", she persisted. "I have no debt", I said, feeling rather pleased. "Oh, you pay it off every month", she stated with what I thought was a realisation of defeat. Then, having clearly hit upon what she thought was a brilliant comeback, she offered this nugget: "If you ever get separated, and you want to treat yourself, you can get a card."
Separated from what? My common sense?! How kind of the Post Office to encourage me to comfort myself by buying things I can't afford. Losing my life-long partner is bound to feel so much better, if I treat myself to some debt, which I am unable to pay back.Also, in the midst of my emotional hell, would I really be likely to remember the rather desperate sales talk of the Post Office worker and think: "I know, I will get myself a credit card so I can improve my situation by buying some treats for myself."
Still, there we have it. Should I ever get divorced, I may lose my sanity, my health and my happiness. Our children's family will be broken up, my life will fall apart, but hey, at least the Post Office will support me. Terms and conditions apply.....
I probably won't have to. You see, my husband and I were sorting out our mortgage and also applying for incapacity insurance for it. In other words, should one of us become too ill to work, our mortgage payments will still be covered, and then some. I think. Honestly, I tried to listen, I really did, but it was so boring, that I just could not remember all the details. I was, however, desperately trying to remember all the details of my past ailments, just in case they were relevant to the medical questions they asked me. I don't even think all my answers were needed, but having heard about people whose life-insurance claims are turned down due to them never having told the insurers about some ancient, unrelated illness has made me really paranoid.
If I had ever worried further about finances, it turns out I can always rely on the Post Office. Increasingly, the Post Office workers try to sell me things, when I am just trying to post some letters. The other day, I had finished sending some items, when the cashier asked me whether I would like a Post Office Master Card. "No thanks, my husband has one", I replied, breezily. "We do 0% on balance transfers for 18 months", she persisted. "I have no debt", I said, feeling rather pleased. "Oh, you pay it off every month", she stated with what I thought was a realisation of defeat. Then, having clearly hit upon what she thought was a brilliant comeback, she offered this nugget: "If you ever get separated, and you want to treat yourself, you can get a card."
Separated from what? My common sense?! How kind of the Post Office to encourage me to comfort myself by buying things I can't afford. Losing my life-long partner is bound to feel so much better, if I treat myself to some debt, which I am unable to pay back.Also, in the midst of my emotional hell, would I really be likely to remember the rather desperate sales talk of the Post Office worker and think: "I know, I will get myself a credit card so I can improve my situation by buying some treats for myself."
Still, there we have it. Should I ever get divorced, I may lose my sanity, my health and my happiness. Our children's family will be broken up, my life will fall apart, but hey, at least the Post Office will support me. Terms and conditions apply.....
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