Many years ago, my wife and I went to lunch at a pizza joint in a strip mall. The friendly gray-haired host in sensible shoes (whom I pegged for mid-to-late 60s), tucked two menus under her arm, grabbed a couple sets of silverware wrapped in white paper napkins, and led us to our booth. Since the noontime rush was yet to hit, our host decided to chat. She asked how our day was going, made a pleasant comment about my wife’s shirt, and told us she was a bit tired because, “after this I need to run over to my second job at Kohl’s. Just trying to keep a roof over my head. Been pretty busy since my third husband died.”
Record scratch. Music stops.
She said she hoped we enjoyed our lunch, smiled, and returned to the front where another group was waiting to be seated. I contemplated what I just heard. Either she burned through three husbands who are now all deceased, or one (or both) of the first two are still alive and just husband number 3 is dead. Regardless, I think somebody messed up.
My financial brain started to spin. This woman should be playing canasta with her friends, not showing a stranger and his wife to their seats by a window. She could be hitting golf balls or taking care of her grandkids while the parents run errands. One husband has assuredly passed on, potentially two others have also died. Did anybody think to buy some life insurance?