The sex insurance claim

Before I hung up my waitresses’ apron, two aforementioned insurance brokers returned to dine. As I took their order, I informed them of their inspiration that led me to write the blog about the concept of sex insurance – and I’m resultantly thrust an email address. Later that week, I send the link, and, hey presto, I’m being sent messages that would make the late Joan Rivers blush. Not my plan, I have neither the time nor inclination to get jiggy, but it’s a huge compliment – this man is charismatic and oozes confidence and charm.

In the name of insurance innuendos and euphemisms, I explained that my policy does not pay out if he holds a policy elsewhere – and I note no confirmation of me being a potential sole-provider (this is far from a matter of commitment, this is a matter of not pouching business). I have a word with myself to stop being so suspicious, and acknowledge that there’s every chance that the coast is clear – but my gut instinct is stronger than Ron Jeremy’s todger, and I am at last gaining a little wisdom in learning to trust it. I cut to the chase and ask directly if he’s single – he’s not.

Sometimes we see things, and sometimes we just see what our minds want to see – he was only messaging in the mornings, and I couldn’t ignore that as a potential red flag.

In the words of Peter Jones, ‘I’m out.’

It served me to have no judgement, to be nice and to see the positive – he was honest, he understood my position on not dipping another woman’s chips in my ketchup, and he was a much-needed boost to my temporarily battered confidence, in the midst of the recent gaslighting experience (see previous post…). I couldn’t feel annoyed because I had no expectations, and because I felt strong for walking away. You can’t pay into a diet club and then eat pork scratchings, just because you feel like it – you have to stand strong and do the right thing. Pork scratchings taste nice but they might break your teeth – which would be fair karma for being short-sighted.

I wished him well – not without informing him that even virtual, web-based infidelity hurts like riding a saddle-less bike down a flight of stairs and using a brick wall as a brake. He was gracious in response. We checked out.

There’s a girl code – we should all stick to it.


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