And then I won the lottery

Yes, you read that right. But if you're familiar with this blog, you know I have a tendency to exaggerate. Like that time I said we robbed a bank (which I completely stand by) except that we really just bought a house.

I guess I should back up a little. I've mentioned it in passing, but back in November I got super sick and found myself in the hospital for two.whole.weeks. Oh right, and did I mention I was hospitalized on THANKSGIVING, the holy day of FOOD and wasn't allowed to eat. Or drink. Or anything? Let me just tell you, it was a whole new fresh kind of hell. And I was, um, intolerable? Bless my husband's sweet little heart. He actually snuck me a tiny TINY piece of dark chocolate just to get me to shut up for a minute. That's love y'all.

Anyway, fast forward to about a month ago. We have an agent through Aflac that handles our secondary insurance policies. He comes by once a year, we resign the same paper for our policies, he brings donuts, everyone wins. Here's where things get exciting. Me, being the fab grown up (*snort*) that I am, completely forgot I even took out a policy with them. It was like a billion (read 3) years ago, the payments come out of my check before I ever see it, so it kind of just slipped my mind. I can hear you laughing at me. Hush.

Like I was saying, I only forgot about it until donut man Aflac guy showed up. We got to chatting and I told him about my little illness escapade, which was when he not-so-subtly reminded me about my policy. And that they are for temporary disability, and hospital stays. This is the point of the post where I SHAMELESSLY promote getting on board with a secondary insurance policy. Ya'll? Their commercials are not, I repeat, NOT a joke. The paper work for the claims were all of 3 pages, and both my policies paid out. To me. IN CASH. To the tune of: I now owe not one dime for any of my 900 hospital bills, have enough money left over to buy a Louis Vuitton purse (if I was in to that, but I'm totally not), a year's supply of popsicles (totally more my style), AND still put some in my savings account because blah I'm-married-to-a-responsible-wannabe-grown-up-who-won't-just-let-me-piss-it-all-away. RUDE.

Moral of the story? A magical duck showed up and gave me a bag of money all because my colon hates me and I had to miss Thanksgiving. Like a friggin adult version of the tooth fairy. Or something like that.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some serious bomb pop vs. lick a color frozen treat decisions to make.

Happy Thursday friendships!

Always,

L