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    As I get older, I have learned that it is probably futile to try to make sense out of the nonsensical. For instance twice a year, my automobile insurance company rewards me with a $25.00 check for my good driving record. As a matter of fact, this month my reward was raised to $27.00.  All was copacetic until I received the bill for my yearly premium.

    My insurance company had raised the price, and now I have to pay $120.77 more than I did last year. So, after I deduct my yearly $54.00 reward for good driving, I still have to pay $66.77 more in 2018 than I did in 2017. Consequently, I called my personable insurance agent and asked, “Why, with my excellent driving record, did the company raise my premium $120.77?”
    She replied, “Because you had a birthday.” “I had a birthday last year,” I said, “And they didn’t sock it to me then.” “Well,” she replied, “If, you are still driving in five years, the company will raise your rate again. They figure that as people get older, they are more accident prone because their reflexes slow down.”

    So, then, I said, “That’s age discrimination!” Sympathetically, she replied, “You are right, but all automobile insurance companies do that.” Feeling dejected, after my go around with my nice insurance agent, I decided to go to Trader Joe’s. That place never fails to cheer me up, and sure enough, I saw a sign that advertised, “Grass fed hotdogs.” I assume that hotdogs are now the new Miracle Grow for starving grass. Will wonders never cease?

    When I got home (sans hotdogs) my mailman delivered a letter from my Homeowners Insurance Company. It began, “Thank you for being a loyal customer. We’re happy to have you with us. Your bill should arrive in a couple of weeks.” That was the good news. The kicker came on the third page.

    “You may have noticed (you bet I did!) that we have increased your Dwelling Protection Coverage.” It’s called a Protection Insurance Adjustment (PIA) which “reflects changes in construction costs in your area.”

    Wow!  The estimated replacement cost of my home has gone up $12.00. No, I won’t call my insurance agent. She’s nice, but there’s even a limit to niceness. I would have asked my son, Josh about the nonsensical premise of this raise in premium, but the last time I asked him his opinion on an issue like this, he kindly said, “Mom, too bad it’s not rocket science, because that’s what I do.”

    I recently read a mystery book by Rex Stout called, SECOND CONFESSION. The book was just okay, but one line was memorable when the detective, Nero Wolfe, said, “You suffer from mental astigmatism.” I wish I had said that first.

    Esther Blumenfeld

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