I've never been one to rush to buy lottery tickets.
Sometimes, I'll get one on a whim, which usually means a wasted dollar, as I don't really have that lucky streak that seems to run rampant in toothless people who live in small, northern Ontario towns. Or people in Quebec. For some reasons, those Francophones know how to pick numbers.
But there's something about having that unchecked ticket in my hand for a few days, knowing I could be sitting on something that could make my life just that little bit more enjoyable... well, that's always worth at least a buck, right?
A bit of hope for a hundred pennies.
It's not a bad deal, poppets.
And if you lose? Well, you shrug it off, and if you remember, you buy another few days of hope and fantasy - all for a wee loonie.
And come on, isn't the "What would you do if you won?" game the most fun?
I always have the same answer: three or four months in a fat farm in North Carolina. Come out shining and glorious and thin and beautiful. Then? Travel, travel and more travel. I'd fly everywhere in a private jet, zigzagging around the North America, picking up friends new and old, and then I'd deliver us all to Swingin' London, where we'd take over the city and make the Queen wish she'd stepped down a long time ago. Oh, and I'd shop! Oh, there would be shopping! And I'd take all my haute couture-loving friends, and we would make salespeople salivate. It would be like that scene in Pretty Woman, except there would be more dancing in front of the mirror. And perhaps more pizza.
My hand was itchy today, poppets. My Nonna always knew money was coming or going when her hand was itchy, and I've inherited her little gift. So, I think I'll pick up a lottery ticket today, poppets. Anybody have a lucky number between one and 49 that I can borrow? I need six of 'em...
Wish me luck, my beauties. After all, if I win, you know you're coming to London with me...
Edited because someone has a keen eye! Grazie, darling.
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