The “R” word.

Cootie has a 1992 Toyota Previa. It is paid for. It has over 300,000 miles on it. For any vehicle, that is kick-ass. She likes the van.

She named it Olaf.

Olaf needs new windshield wipers.  Yay for Auto Zone and Reilly’s Auto Parts and all those kinds of stores, right? Yay!

No. Wrong.

Apparently, we have to go to a Toyota dealership in order to get those antique parts. Also, apparently, those wipers are about forty dollars.

Each.

If my girlfriend needed new and obscure windshield wipers, that would be one thing.

Now, my wife needs them. And it is different.

I am glad to be one of the few in the country who have health insurance. It’s not great insurance. And it costs a lot. But I have it. And you know, I have been a pretty healthy guy. I rarely have to go the doctor. I’m like Keith Richards, with fewer facial lines.  The Boy is the same way. A good tooth cleaning every now and then and the Boy is pretty much set. So the insurance was there just in case we needed it. Whatever, you know? The money came out of my check, along with that extra week of vacation I buy every fucking year and somehow forget to schedule.

Today, I spent somewhere around two hours with the Home Office updating my information, telling them about my recent Life Changing Event (“Hello, sir, I’d like to report a marriage”) and adding two girls to my insurance policy.  Me and the Boy is one thing. We’re all invincible and shit.

If my girlfriend needed insurance, that would be one thing.

Now my wife needs it. And that is different.

 

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