Free credit freeloader.

I imagine anyone who's watched TV
sometime in the last two years or so
has seen the credit report commercial
featuring a doughy, curly-haired hipster
singing a punk ballad
about his wife's credit woes.

If you don't know the one, click here.

Despite my best efforts
to either mute the TV or shut it off
the moment I hear those opening bars,
the damn song seems to have engraved itself
permanently onto brain cells
I would have preferred to save
for better use elsewhere--
like remembering where I put the remote
when I'm in a mad rush to escape
indoctrination by jingle.

The advertising world may have won
the battle to get inside my head,
but today I'm taking a stand
against that irritating dude
and all he represents--
like companies that try
to simultaneously charm and frighten
people into paying for a service,
by offering free copies of reports
consumers are already legally entitled
to request free of charge,
direct from the credit bureaus themselves.

Apparently, the Doughy Hipster
is filled with sardonic rue,
because his wife never told him
she had some bad credit
before they got married.
One wonders why DH would have
entered into a binding contract
to become a legal economic unit
with someone, when he couldn't
have a frank discussion with her
about personal finances.

Clearly, he neglected to ask her
some important questions
after popping the Big One.
But he doesn't see that as his fault--
he just wishes he'd thought to order
her credit report on the sly
before he closed the doors on his
matrimonial cage.

So they're living in her
parents' basement, where
she resignedly does the laundry
while he and his pals from the band
lie about and whine about
their crimped lifestyle.

Whatever happened to his old place?
You know, the apartment he lived in
before his marriage--
couldn't she have just moved in
with him there?
Maybe he didn't have one.
An old joke from my college days
comes to mind:

What do you call a musician
without a girlfriend?

Homeless.

Seems to me that even though the wife
may have bad credit, she's still the one
putting a roof over their heads--
even if it means moving back in
with her parents to do it.
And she seems to be doing
all the housework, to boot.

Considering how crowded their basement is,
I also wonder why the band couldn't go
to another member's place to rehearse.
Or maybe rent a rehearsal space?
After all, if your in-laws
are kind enough to let you live with them,
you might not want to irritate them
with electric guitars, basses and drum kits
pounding away downstairs at all hours.

At the very least, DH and dudes
could have cleared out
when they wanted to bitch about
the front-man's girl--
instead, they let her work around them
while they sing songs about
how bad she is with money,
and how much her husband wishes
he'd never married her.

I wonder how long the wife
is going to put up with DH's bullshit.
She's a pretty lady--
it wouldn't be hard for her
to land someone better.

It's hard to give much rocker cred
to a guy who dreams of
pleasant suburban lawns,
but if that's what DH really wants,
maybe he should stop jamming
and go look for a job,
so he can start saving
for a down payment.

I understand there's
a pirate-theme restaurant hiring--
he wouldn't even have to shave
or get a haircut to apply.

At the very least,
DH should consider wiping that smirk
off his face and doing some dishes,
or offering to help his wife
fold those clothes.
Otherwise, he might find out
what could really wreck his credit--

Divorce.

Comments

[Julie]

You are hilarious! And you speak the truth.

But I do have to say, singing those catchy jingles to myself got me all the way across northern Nevada last summer without falling asleep at the wheel.

[Caffeinatrix]

Doughy Hipster...I fucking love that! At first it looked like "Douchy Hipster" which, rather coincidentally, would also have been appropriate. But damn those ad people and their catchy little songs. I have the one about the seafood restaurant stuck in my head for days at a time. Bastards.

[Jayne]

That was PERFECT.