Many of us are hoping to win.
I count myself among the many – even when I
don’t play, I still want to win.
If it ever happens, I’m going to spend the first two weeks walking
around with a sprig of mistletoe hanging over my ass. Maybe a month. I think that’ll send the right message to
most people and I won’t have to strain my voice repeating the same thing over
and over. Pretty classy, huh?
Now that I've shared my lotto rage fantasy, it might be time to think about this in a different way.
Maybe we've already won.
I don’t have the statistics on how many millions of sperm
are released during la petite mort, but I’m guessing that the odds of that
right one finding your mom’s egg to make the unique expression of the sublime that is you have the same astronomical odds as
hitting all six numbers in the next Mega Millions jackpot.
Maybe we can put one in the ‘win’ column.
We've gotta stop waiting for the gift we've already
been given. Just get on with it. Pinning our life’s hopes on a lotto win is about as sane as crying about being hungry
when you have a juicy, sizzling steak dinner sitting right in front of you.
You look like a crazy, blind ingrate with sinus issues –
since not only can’t you see the steak, you apparently can’t smell it either.
I’m sure I’ll play the lottery again, but maybe this year I’ll
lower the dollar threshold so I can actually get to make my little mistletoe
accessory.
Twenty dollars sounds like a nice round number.
