Sunday, January 26, 2014


                                                             
INVESTMENT FANTASIES

“Let’s talk about your BMDB,” said our CPA. ‘
“Does that mean we had a shitty year?” I asked.
Mr. Wonderful gave me a “what-the-hell-was-that” look and pulled out his perfectly-typed list of questions for Mr. Finance.

The quarterly meeting with our Financial Planner, a young version of Perry Como with a body of steel, is always informative. Mr. Wonderful thinks we go there to check on our portfolio; I go there, however, to drool. This guy is a 4.0 tennis player, a certified scuba diver, a marathon man and a brilliant financial planner. How am I supposed to sit there and listen to him talk preferreds when my preference would be to scoop him up, fly him away to Hawaii and set him on a beach. “That’ll be two Vodka Surferhitos, please,” I would say,leaning back on the chaise in my Neiman bikini.

Anyway, I pulled it together and listened attentively while he and Mr. Wonderful discussed the future of my wardrobe and jewelry collection. I shake my head as intelligently as I am able, feigning comprehension when I haven’t an effen clue what either of them is talking about. I sip on my coffee, taking an occasional note (“omg, he’s hot”) so as to make him think I am the only client over 60 who gets his jargon. Meantime, I’m internally humming “Come Away With Me.” 

There’s something called an Annuity that supposedly leaves me death benefits if Mr. Wonderful should fall off his white horse. (I am ashamed to admit that every so often, I think about unfastening his saddle.) The BMDB means “base minimum death benefit.” I would love to know what MAN arbitrarily gets to determine that amount as he sits around some mahoghany table in Podunk, Ohio. If a woman were in charge, I’m absolutely certain she would provide for my shopping addiction and my Dr. Shot bill.

Anyway, we walked out of the office smiling. Mr. Wonderful was feeling pretty good about the market and the fact that we took out thousands of dollars and still had enough left to get through March 12th of 2016. I was smiling thinking about the flight to Maui. 


footnote:  Perry Como’s big hit of 1970 was “It’s Impossible.” Seemed appropriate to mention this.