Open your eyes slowly and try to sit up.
You had a little too much Lottery Vodka last night. I saw you tipping back one set of numbers after the next, increasingly convinced with each new sequence that a bunch of ping pong balls in an air popper were going to line up in exactly the right order to permanently and profoundly change your life.
I made a half-hearted attempt to get you to slow down, but you were already too far gone into 320 million dollar fantasy land – promising to use your fortune to buy a new clarinet for every impoverished 4th grader in Minneapolis, because “… music is so beautiful, every poor kid deserves a chance to be the next Artie Shaw.”
Nice sentiment. Sorry it didn’t work out the way you imagined.
But then again, Shaw’s life didn’t turn out so happy after all. It might have been a waste of money in any case. It’s hard to spend a fortune wisely, and we never know what strange turn fate will take.
We’ve already seen that big lottery winners are especially adept at financial smash-ups. I only buy one ticket at a time, based on a private theory I have that a single ticket is really just “a license to imagine”.
According to this smug rationale, getting two tickets is proof you don’t know anything about mathematics or probability, and buying three tickets certifies that you didn’t deserve to have six dollars in the first place.
But if I’m so smart, why couldn’t I have simply IMAGINED buying a ticket instead of throwing away two dollars?
That’s the problem with exercising your inventiveness on something like this. I did picture all my numbers coming up during the drawing last night, but when I fantasized about going into the kitchen to retrieve the stub, I also imagined that my dog had inexplicably eaten the ticket.
Dang! I was going to buy a Personalized Whack-A-Mole game for every member of the baboon tribe! With moulded mole heads shaped to look like members of your family!
But put it out of your mind. We should have known our numbers were never going to come up.
What’s your lucky number?