Hurt so good

If I may borrow a phrase from White House Chief of Staff and America's highest paid Eunuch, General John Kelly, my wife and I are in the barrel -- I think I'm using that phrase correctly.

Not long ago, my wife left her part time job repping the Harvard Business Review. Trying to sell ad space in print is difficult. Trying to sell ad space in a magazine with no pictures, no cartoons and no levity whatsoever is like trying to peddle lawn sprinklers in Hawaii.

Now that she is home she has plenty of time to monitor my excessive coffee intake, hound me about taking out the garbage and inquire about the last time I shaved or took a shower.

But there's also a downside.

You see when she departed her job she also left behind our prized medical care. Hence, the barrel reference.

Contrary to what you might have heard, shopping for health insurance is no picnic. Indeed it is 180 degrees from retail therapy. And in no small fit of irony, sorting through all those options and payment plans can induce headaches, ticks, twitches, spasms and, my favorite, irritable bowel syndrome.

"Should symptoms persist, rush immediately to Canada or some other Democratic Socialist country with universal healthcare."

Making the matter worse, the sales materials read like the IKEA assembly instructions, in their original Swedish.

"Det finns en 20% sambetalning plus en $5000 självrisk."

"Du kan välja någon av våra godkända läkare, er ... veternarians"

"Kanske borde du extrahera din egen njursten."

In short it's a lot of money. It's thoroughly confusing. And because there are so many options and so many life impacting decisions to be made, I completely shut down. I told my wife that it was in her wheelhouse. Just like our wedding. 

In fact, just as I told her oh so many years ago, I said the exact same thing.

"I'll write the check. Just tell me when and where to show up."