STRANGER THAN FICTION: LIFE INSURANCE DRIVES SPOUSES TO DO VERY BAD THINGS

You'd have to think a company selling $1 million in life insurance over the phone is a little shady. But I'm betting my future wealth they aren't.

It was about 9 a.m. Monday. You may remember that Monday was a holiday -- a time when any regular Joe Office in his right mind should sleep until noon.

The phone rang.

"Hmmpht?" I said.

An unusually perky girl identified herself as being from a major credit card company and asked for The Other Half. I told her he was still asleep and shouldn't be allowed to make any decision involving our family's finances, anyway.

I'd tell you about his recent addiction to online auction houses, but that's another column. And I've got to keep writing them to pay off his e-Bay bill.

I'm not sure why I listened to the perky girl's spiel -- probably because I used to be an unusually perky young woman who sold vacuum cleaners door-to-door and nearly starved to death in the process.

The girl wanted me to enjoy $1 million worth of accidental death insurance free for three months -- I could cancel at any time -- and for only $9.95 a month after that. The news had the same effect as 10 cups of black coffee.

"OK," I said. "I'll take it!"

She asked who should be insured -- me or my husband? HIM, of course.

Duh. Like I'm going to put a $1 million price tag on MY head. She asked a few basic questions and put her supervisor on the line. He told me that the policy wouldn't pay out if The Other Half died as a result of war, illegal drug abuse or in the commission of a felony.

He also said that the policy only paid out $250,000 if The Other Half died while taking public transportation.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Get those mortified looks off your faces. I'm canceling the policy (come on, I don't feel THAT sorry for perky young telemarketers), and I love The Other Half more than anyone else on Earth. I pray daily for his good health -- except for when I check that mounting e-Bay tab.

But if you watch much TV, you'd see that my conversation with the telemarketer was the perfect set-up for an episode of "Law & Order," some other detective drama or even "The Perfect Crime" on A&E. It appears I'm the only spouse in America who doesn't consider life insurance some kind of lottery jackpot.

So, because that telemarketer woke me up on one of about five lousy mornings per year that I slept in, maybe I should have messed with her supervisor just a little when he told me the policy provisions. I can see it now.

SUPERVISOR: The policy is void if your husband dies as a result of war, illegal drug abuse or in the commission of a felony.

ME: OK, what if he's the victim of a felony? I mean, like, what if he's walking down the street one day, and out of the blue, someone pops him? Someone that I've never seen before in my life, of course.

HIM: Uh, well, yes. The policy would pay out.

ME: OK. So what if the cops turn their attention to me and somehow think that I'm associated with my husband getting popped? Would I still get my money?

HIM: (Long pause.) Let me check my manual. Uh, looks like you'd get paid unless you were convicted.

ME: Bummer. I mean -- that makes sense. Hold on a minute. (Covering the receiver.) HONEY, PUT THAT CRACK PIPE DOWN THIS INSTANT! (To telemarketer.) Sorry about that. About that war thing, what if he's drafted but doesn't volunteer and still gets whacked?

HIM: The policy still wouldn't pay out, ma'am.

ME: Hmmm. But let me get one thing straight. I don't pay anything for the next 90 days, but if he kicks off in that time period, I still get my money, right?

HIM: That's right.

ME: But I only get $250,000 if he dies while taking public transportation.

HIM: Yes, ma'am.

ME: Hold on a minute. (Covering the receiver.) HONEY, ARE YOU LEAVING? WHY DON'T YOU TAKE THE BUS?

Of course, I wasn't bright or awake enough to think of doing that.

But I'm not worried. There's always the next early phone call on the next holiday morning.

~Heidi Nieland is a former staff writer for the Southeast Missourian who now lives in Pensacola, Fla.