Eleanor Tatum

Please, a moment of silence.  Our refrigerator died. She was a twenty-seven year old great gal and she died during a heat blizzard. That is a new global warming term meaning more than one consecutive day of triple digit temperatures accompanied with killing humidity.

While replacing an appliance can be a placid affair, this adventure reminded me of my politically incorrect opinion concerning insurance premiums. That is another term of botheration.  Why not call it what it is?  Gambling.  We’re gambling that something will go wrong! 

Now, return to dear old Miss Whirl Pool.  When her replacement was selected the salesman offered in a “don’t shoot me but I’ve got to give this spiel or I’ll lose my job”  lecture about the joys of health insurance for our new appliance. 

I was polite. I waited until he had finished.  When his finger hovered above his computer Y-key, I answered, “No, thank you.  If the refrigerator was made correctly in the first place it would not need health insurance.”

Good Grief.