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On my desk, staring at me for close to a week is the insurance form to be completed for changing my car policy to another company. In the meantime, my new car is covered. The three pages look like a fire eating dragon that will consume me if I don’t put an X in a box, fill out my personal statistics. Way down, probably on page 2, I will be asked what I ate for breakfast, how much I weigh, where my next trip will take me. ‘Stop diddle daddling. Fill it out, send it in and be done with it,’ my mind insists.

From the right hand side of my desk, mentally labeled ‘mail stuff’ I remove a sheet of name/address labels. The daily surge of them annoys hell out of me. Charities from foreign countries, places in America that must be back with the mountain moonshiners are torn to bits, except once when I decided to put a few sheets in my small shredder. As soon as I switched it on, there was big trouble. It shook and shook as did I. When I did shut it off, the teeth were jammed because of the glue on the back of the labels. Almost an hour later, with five long fingernails broken to the quick, I cleared it out and haven’t used it since.

The labels I do keep must suit me perfectly. Any thing addressing me as Mr., rip, any without the extra 4 letter zip code, rip, any that add curlicue large initials or flowers on the end, rip. I also don’t hold on to those that are printed too lightly or are too small for me to read without my bi-focals. Two of the approved labels I use. One goes directly where my name and address are called for. The other goes on the envelope as return address. A cold Coke gets me moving to line 3.

Checks go in boxes for widowed, age over 60. ‘Employed’ elates me. With a red pen I fill in ‘Yes’ and under that I smile and add ‘WRITER.’Silly but rewarding even though I have yet to make a buck from it. My letters to the Editor get printed, most likely without the Editor having seen them. He gets paid, I don’t. Any traffic tickets? No. Any accident claims? No. Any drivers besides you? One. How long have you been driving? I check ‘ over 40 years. The phone interrupts my deep concentration. A stranger’s voice asks me to contribute to the Police Assn. I hang up and go back to my unfinished form.

Current health- ‘Please include a letter from your doctor.’ Whoa, this form may not go in for a month when perhaps my doctor will see my request. At this point I attach a pink-stick on–‘Letter from doctor unavailable at present. Just give me cost of insurance.’

Laugh time again. My red pen is ready. Present income. I check ’over 1 million p/y.’ Will the agent’s mouth drop? Will he wonder why I am applying for insurance on a $20000 Honda instead of a Rolls?

The application calls for my driver’s license #, my VIN and my Social Security number. Here I take control and will not give my Social Security number to them or anyone else. I sign and mail it.

You know what happens, don’t you? I wouldn’t give my Social Security number and they wouldn’t insure my car.

So be it! I quit and will stick with my old insurance company, pay too much a year, and bury it under my new big red hat.