Hitchhikers, Love and Totally-Free Checking

I have been married for a very long time (we’ll celebrate our tenth anniversary in a couple of weeks). If I didn’t love my husband very much I would never have put up with him for this long. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a great guy. Funny, smart, good-looking and, most importantly, he puts up with me.



But, sometimes, he goes a little crazy.

What do you mean you

lost the checkbook?

Not like that guy in The Shining kind of crazy. He gets paranoid. Like the Ozzy/Black Sabbath song.

PARANOID!!

This always happens based on things I do. He, apparently, is above reproach. Allow me an obligatory eyeroll, if you will. And I promise not to mention the time he stopped to help the two guys (who had obviously been drinking) with car problems on a mountain pass in Colorado. At midnight. Or the scruffy guy we picked up in a mountain pass just outside of Anchorage. No, I will be fair and not mention those things.



This happened today. I wrote a check. He went paranoid. Then he went to dig up information at the one source paranoid people should never, ever use.



The Internet.



After his research stint, he tracked me down and breathlessly told me:
“If people have the number on your check, THEY CAN STEAL ALL OF YOUR MONEY!!!!!!” (emphasis in original)



I replied: “And you think all of those people who spend their lives sitting around thinking up new ways to steal money haven’t thought of this? Nor have the banks? You’re the first? If this were true, criminals would just back up their trucks and celebrate Free Money Day in Tahiti. Think, idiot!”



He admitted that I might be right (gasp!), but it was not enough to quell his paranoia. Cue the Ozzy song.

THEY"LL STEAL YOUR MONEY!!!

He called the bank and explained his concerns to the customer service person. She assured him that while it is possible, it doesn’t happen a whole lot. And even if it did, the bank is liable for the money.



Partial vindication.



This would not be the time for me to mention the occasion when one of those door-to-door magazine subscription people came to our house. We were just getting ready to leave and just gave the guy a total NO. As we pulled out of our driveway, the guy was still walking through the neighborhood, looking for other people to bother sell magazines to.



“You know, that would be a really good way to case a house,” says my husband.



Cue Ozzy, again.

Does this font make

my butt look big?

We had to drive around the block until the guy left. He waved every time we passed.



Like I said, if I didn’t love my husband so much I would never have put up with this for ten freaking years.



And don’t even get me started about Y2K.

(Note: My husband insisted that he get to read this before I posted. I had to take out all of my account numbers, social security numbers and passwords that I’d planned on posting. Dang it.)