The Fire Safe Argument
All I wanted to do was make brownie sundaes and watch Archer in the cool basement. Instead I was arguing about fire safes. I was aware of my dramatic delivery when I said, “I had dreams, once!” But I wasn’t entirely joking. I don’t think I ever ever ever wiled away an afternoon dreaming of the house insurance I might own someday. And I definitely never imaged what kind of fire safe I would have.
It was late and hot and the kitchen was finally clean. My husband was opening the mail and casually mentioned that we should probably get a fire safe, “Just in case.” He was reading a notice about something from our insurer. I still don’t know what the letter said because I like to take up
-%700 of my brain with things that refer to deductibles, endorsements, and/or conditions.
I asked him how much a safe might cost. “Probably a hundred dollars?” he said, still casual, still reading the mail. I told him that I could list about a hundred things I would rather spend a hundred dollars on. “But what if our house burns down?” he said. I argued that our house burning down would be really unfortunate, but isn’t that why we pay for insurance? Do we really need a paper copy of the thing? Maybe my voice escalated a little. My husband looked at me and narrowed his eyes. “Are we fighting about this?”
I don’t know why we were arguing. I can blame the heat, and our combined exhaustion. But I can’t explain my reasons for saying things like, “As soon as I heard the words ‘insurance policy’ my eyes glazed over and my vagina fuzed shut!!! So no. I do not want a fire safe.”
When my husband continued to press the idea, he was maybe goading me when he suggested getting a separate fire safe for locking up our external hard drive at night. I think my head rotated 360 degrees before I said, “Why don’t we take out insurance on the fire safe, and then get a separate fire safe for that insurance, and make sure we make lots of copies of these insurance policies and bury them in isolated locations, and then make maps to these locations in case we forget about them, and then we’ll put those maps in fire safes too?”
I never want to hear the word fire safe again. And if I ever lose everything in a house fire, joke’s on me, I guess. Feel free to point and laugh when the insurers fail to pay because of some technicality related to not having physical copies of my insurance policy. Discussing something as unsexy as the protection of important documents was not on my to-do list for Thursday night. The only thing that was getting me through my children’s bedtime ritual was the thought of a brownie sundae, Archer, and maybe intercourse with my husband.
I suppose life is made up of those dull, sexless moments. They’re the bowl to the sundae. I don’t care about the bowl- it can be made of plastic, or porcelain, or glass…just not styrofoam, because we have enough garbage already, thanks. What I’m trying to say is, as long as my sundae is made with real ice cream and not “frozen dessert”, as long as the brownie is hot and the fudge is plentiful, don’t talk to me about the bowl. I don’t care about the bowl. I don’t care about insurance, or fire safes, or equity (I think that is related to insurance…). If that interests you, fantastic. Find someone else to discuss it with.
I communicated these wishes to my husband and he was okay with it. End of argument.
(I think I won?)