This afternoon, Margaret and I are meeting with a financial planner. In light of current events, we're anxious to get our things in order. I just hope he doesn't recommend some off-the-wall investment like a limited partnership or shares of milk produced by an organic cow. What he'll probably say is that our nest egg is best served stuffed in a piggy bank. I have no idea how this works, so I don't know at all what to expect.

Speaking of not knowing what to expect, I remember one time, soon after we'd gotten married, that we got this official-looking envelope in the mail saying that we'd won some prize and to show up to a certain place at a certain time. Margaret and I looked over the potential prizes and couldn't wait to go! (Hey, we were young and inexperienced!) When we got there, it felt like the inside of a 70's homemade porn basement and there were about 15 other couples there--anxiously waiting to find out what their prize was. Finally someone came out and started a presentation on a travel club talking up how much it saves and how often he gets to travel, etc, etc. Margaret and I just rolled our eyes and realized one thing: "we're TRAPPED!" We had to sit through this inane presentation that lasted what felt like six hours, but was more likely one, and after it was over, a flock of sleazy salespeople swooped down on the unsuspecting couples to give them the hard sell one-on-one. Everytime our salesman tried to get us to commit, we would tell him that we have a hard and fast rule that we wouldn't make any big decisions regarding money without spending a couple of days thinking about it. This frustrated him to no end. He called in his "manager," who tried the same technique--even trying to split us up and convince us seperately! They tried to play up the "do you let your spouse make your decisions for you" schtick, and I'm sure they used the same line with Margaret. (At that point, though, I just thought that even if I wanted to say yes, Margaret would KILL me.) During the hard sell phase, several couples had already decided to commit--and everyone in the room was painfully aware of it. Each time a couple signed up for The Program, their salesperson would ring a bell to get everyone's attention, then announce to the room that Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so had just joined, crack open a bottle of champagne and give one of those plastic champagne glasses to each of them for a toast, then escort the new cult members program members into another room. Once this started, people started dropping like flies--nothing like a herd mentality to empty a room. Finally our salesman was about to give up--he offered to take our credit card then, but not process it until the next day. We told him that we'd think about it overnight and if it was something that we wanted, we'd call back tomorrow. He was not happy, but couldn't really do anything else. He escorted us through a back hallway, where we checked our number on the prize sheet and shock of shocks, had won the "other prize" that's always listed at the end of a prize list. In this case, it was a fanny pack. A FRICKIN' FANNY PACK was all we got. Well, we also got hours of torture mixed with amusement at watching those zombie-like couples carry their plastic glasses of champagne into the "other room" like they were European aristocracy. And I'm sure that when they actually used their travel benefits, the hotels and resorts would treat them more like Eurotrash--so I guess it all works out. As for us, we've NEVER regretted not caving in--we just regret actually falling for the scam. Although we do still use that fanny pack, so it wasn't ALL for naught.