Is health insurance the new Mustang?

I was at a typically uninteresting Upper West Side rooftop barbecue when a man at least fifteen years my senior approached me and introduced himself. "I'm Sam," he said. (All names have been changed to protect the awkward.) Sam, I learned, was a physician's assistant at a Manhattan hospital. "What do you do?" he asked.

Lately, instead of replying, "Well, I'm marginally employed," I've decided to legitimize my career and therefore answered, "I'm a writer."

A few more minutes of awkward conversation passed and Sam asked me, "Do you have medical insurance?"

"Yes," I said. I felt triumphant because up until a couple of months ago, I would've had to answer that question differently.

"But you have to buy your own, right?" he questioned me, doubtlessly surmising that this marginally employed freelance writer didn't receive coverage from a job.

"Yeah," I answered, "and it's pretty crappy. But at least I have something."

"You know, one of the upsides of working for a hospital is that you get really great medical insurance," he said with a degree of pride.

"While that's true I don't really think I have a skill set that a hospital would be interested in so I don't think I'll ever enjoy their coverage."

"Well you don't have to work for the hospital. You can marry someone who does." While he didn't wink, his comment was pointed enough for me to get the hint. I excused myself to go get more dessert.

As I gorged on cake and strawberries I wondered whether I had experienced a new phenomenon. Aren't guys supposed to show you their car to impress you? Or in a city like New York where few own or drive, weren't they supposed to flaunt their six figure incomes or apartments overlooking the park? But I guess that in today's grim economic times of mass layoffs and rising health care costs, good medical insurance might be the newest way for guys to impress girls. As in:

Hey baby, wanna see my Aetna insurance card? It's PPO, not HMO. You can see all the specialists you want.