WFMW = Works For Me Wednesday

I’ve never done one of these before, but I thought now was as good a time as any to share with you my latest frugal endeavor.

It’s pretty simple and I’m certain I’m not the only one out there doing it. You know I’m a gardener, right? Oh yeah. This time of year my house is pretty crazy. Starting seeds, repotting, transplanting, searching for any wandering ray of sunlight for my plants to drink in. (Promise my gardening post is coming soon!)

The thing is, I run out of containers to hold these things! And I’ve grown tired of buying more biodegradable Jiffy pods to put my plants in. The whole thing gets expensive after a while. It’s not like you need a huge container to hold one tomato plant (something small is good enough until time comes to put them in the ground), so I got creative.

Last week I realized something. I eat a lot of yogurt. About a month ago while I was packing my lunch one morning, I decided I wasn’t in the mood for a sandwich. Yogurt sounded good, so I packed that as the main part of my lunch. I found that it was more filling than the sandwich and I enjoyed the variety of flavors available. Ever since then, I’ve been having yogurt every day.

Then I was recycling lots and lots of yogurt cups. It finally occured to me that the 6oz cups were the perfect size to move my seedlings into when they need more room. And this year I have been so overrun with tomatoes and jalepeno peppers, you’d better believe I am glad the thought came to me. All I do is trim the little rim at the top of the cup off and TADA! Seed starting at its most frugal.

Psst…need any peppers?

Loved this episode. Now, onto more mystery and surprises around every corner…the laundry.

Tools needed to accomplish my weekend goals:

• Pitchfork
• Shovel
• Hole in the ground
• Saw
• Willing victim accomplice

Can you guess what I’m doing?

Really, I do. And being the only girl in my family has been a real perk, let me tell you. Other than the overprotection I experienced during most of the time spent under my parents’ roof, it’s been good. Well, it was…up to a point.

There’s one thing I think most of us can agree on. The fact that there is a part of being a girl that we’d rather do without. You know what I mean. The Yearly. (Not to be confused with the delightful, The Yearling. This ain’t no deer.) But we all do it. Strip down, brace yourself, and focus intently on the ceiling tile.

A few weeks ago I had mine. Everything was good. I’m healthy as can be (maybe a little too healthy, but I’ll save that story for a few years from now). My test results came back in the mail about a week later and I was given a clean bill of health. And then I pretty much forgot about the whole thing.

Until I received a letter in the mail yesterday. It was from the doctor’s office and I have to admit that my first reaction was one of alarm. Did they detect something later? Had something during my exam raised concern? I ripped the letter open, dreading what was there.

What I found was dreadful, but not nearly as frightening as I had imagined. It was a bill. For $120.

Well, shoot. What’s that for?

I read on. In the middle of the page, underneath all the digits and totals and subtotals and claims and tax and yadayada, it said I needed to contact my insurance provider because they had refused my claim.

What on earth for? I know this exam is covered.

Right there, in small print, the reason they had denied my claim:

Elizabeth, please contact your benefits coordinator to have your correct sex listed with [insurance company].

Umm…what? The sheer ridiculousness of this request baffles me. I mean, I know that everything has to be in order, but really? I made the phone calls, found the hiccup, and got everything changed in about 15 minutes.

The part that really gets me though is the fact that this is the one exam that the doctor should just be able to use her judgment on. I know they can’t but the whole this is preposterous.

I’ll end this post with the tweet I posted about the situation:

MissWisabus: Insurance denied claim 4 my well woman exam bc employr lists me as MALE. You’d think w/ front row seat in stirrup sect. the dr could verify.