Ah, financial planners. The pinnacle of adulthood and fiscal responsibility. You know you’ve made it when you need to outsource in order to keep track of your towering piles of cash.
But instead of advising us as to whether we should have a money fight or purchase another pool to fill with coins, a la Scrooge McDuck, he laid some hard truths on us.
“You will die. You will get sick or injured. There will be a point in time when you stop working for one point or another.”
He wasn’t a fun financial planner, a pragmatic one though which I suppose is probably better. His priorities were insurance and preparing for retirement. Not particularly appealing to a 25-year-old who’s idea of future planning is what’s for dinner (chips and garlic bread). Partner 2 isn’t much better, his first question was to ask how we could get rich in less than five years.
The poor man, he had a cold, and I could have sworn I saw a jaw tic from holding back sighs and eye rolls. Nonetheless, the consummate professional started assessing our financial situation.
“Not married?” Eyebrows raised. Nope.
“Incomes?” He looked to Partner 2 first who listed off his particulars. Then FP’s tired eyes turned to me.
“Ha, more like income, singular, just one! Ha hahah ha.” Why do I laugh at my own jokes when I’m uncomfortable?
“Well… um, my situation is that I quit my jobs that I loved to come here. So my income… It’s been an adjustment. I’m freelancing but that’s… well, you know how it is!”
He didn’t. He looked sympathetically at Partner 2 while I squirmed.
“But I’m doing a PhD next year!” I blurted, desperate to redeem myself in the eyes of this complete stranger. He smiled politely and turned back to Partner 2 to discuss investment options.
The conversation proceeded without me, so I picked at my fingernails. I refuse to acknowledge equity because it’s not real money, I don’t know what a hedge fund is and long-term planning short circuits my brain.
Left to my own financial planning, I thought about what I needed. You know what there should be? Arsehole insurance. Not literally, unless you have an especially valuable behind, like Kim Kardashian I suppose… But insurance for the less-financially stable partner just in case the relationship doesn’t work out and the arsehole leaves you with absolutely nothing.
Insurance premiums can start high for those in new relationships, if you’ve been together a week it’s going to be more expensive than if you’ve been together for 10 years. There could be excess amounts dependent on age. He crashed your car? Well, he is 23 so there’s going to be a gap. Shared and individual assets make things more complicated. In the case of a break-up, you will receive a pay-out dependent on the aforementioned factors and break-up circumstances as determined by our independent assessor.
This is not to say that Partner 2 and I are having problems, as much as this may sound like it! We are very happy, sickeningly so if we were to post about it on Facebook. I just got to thinking about this after the financial interrogation. You feel quite vulnerable knowing that you rely completely on another person, if he were to up and leave I would have nothing. I’d be deported, he’d get the cat because I couldn’t afford to bring her home, and I’d have to move back in with my parents. Yikes. I know there’s the whole love factor or whatever, and that he depends on me for things too, but it is quite disconcerting to think about.
So I’m going to go ahead and trademark this idea and start working on some concepts for daytime TV commercials. Funeral insurance ad, life insurance ad, Murder She Wrote, arsehole insurance ad. Hey, only 63 shopping days left until Christmas? This could be the best passive-aggressive gift yet!
“Gee, thanks Mum…” *rewraps to hide from boyfriend.*
“You can never be too careful, dear.” *Knowing smile and wink at the camera.*
The irony being that I would have to request this from Partner 2 for Christmas because I have no money… Until Arsehole Insurance ™ takes off!