I tease my SO about spending a few dollars a week on lottery numbers while I continue trying to win $7,000 a week for life from the ghost of Ed McMahon.
Clicking through the inexhaustible pages of yard sale fodder, I keep hoping I’ll find the magical combination of “continues” and search topics to hit the jackpot. So far, not even a measly $100 consolation prize, while the Mister occasionally recoup his single ticket purchase.
Daydreaming about our vast winnings is a frequent pastime. I imagine early retirement for the Mister, perhaps new careers for us as entrepreneurs, or a simple life of leisure (pronounced with a British accent.) A custom-built home would be great too, but I would rather have soft, roomy chairs than a commodious house too big to clean. I want a tree house, maybe a tiny cottage, for a writer’s retreat. I haven’t decided on oceanfront or mountaintop, though.
My son and I play, “when we win the lottery,” spending money we will never have. Cars, and trips to countries rich in automobile history, at the top of our wish lists. We will have to have a separate, museum quality garage for all our vintage and luxury vehicles, of course.
There would be gifts to family and friends. Charitable donations, and perhaps academic endowments honoring dearly departed grandparents.
This exercise in futility is fun for my son. It’s a smidge depressing for me. An easy life is not easy to attain, and there are no quick fixes, but we do silly things sometimes to amuse our children because we love them.