See, this is just all kinds of wrong.
I go to the mailbox and this is there—a detailed listing of how much cash I can expect to get from the Social Security Administration when I retire, and how much the hubs and babies can expect if I go on to the great office in the sky, um, prematurely.
The breakdown of my Social Security benefits started showing up a few years ago, which was foul enough. But now the doggone thing is coming more regularly than my Pottery Barn catalogues. And you know Pottery Barn believes in sending some catalogues on the regular.
I mean, I appreciate the info, SSA. But the constant reminder that I’m A) getting old; B) that I’m going to die; and, C) that I’ll be a broke ass if I manage to live past age 62 just doesn’t feel as warm and fuzzy as the Pierce 4-piece Suede Chaise Sectional in the PB book.
I’m good if the Social Security Administration saves a tree or two and keeps these little notices in the files until I’m ready for the info and actually, like, ask for it.
I mean, I’m just sayin’.