Checked my Powerball ticket this morning before posting this. I had one number – that’s just under the threshold of winning anything. Even two dollars would be a moment of delight. Almost a year ago, I informed my faithful readers that I felt really, really close to a big windfall. Several possibilities loomed large. Hourly updates were coming in from Publishers Clearing House – in fact a number from the president himself, who I presume doesn’t send to just anybody. Last Friday was the day my big check should have arrived, but didn’t. Once again, I practiced my happy smile (which almost inordinately stretched some muscles) and a passable squeal of delight, which they tell me looks good on camera. Those that quietly acknowledge their winnings are not ratings makers. This is a major disappointment as I’m now sneaking my purchases, which should not “increase my chances of winning”, surreptitiously into the house under veil of darkness. I know what you’re thinking, but those big, bold, “YOU HAVEN’T ORDERED ANYTHING – YOU SCHMUCK. HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO STAY IN BUSINESS AT THIS RATE?” announcements come across my computer screen ominously. I feel badly – the person putting balloons all over the website might not get paid this month. How am I supposed to believe that they’re going to deposit a bundle in my bank account every week if I haven’t bought the floral canister set or the new miracle lug wrench that practically changes the tire itself? It’s all a big mystery that they haven’t come because I know they have a map to my house. It pops up on each announcement, surrounded by the entire PCH staff clutching fistfuls of cash. I’ve even written to them offering to shoot the bat-signal into the sky on the morning of delivery. Nothing.
Now, to make my lotto-depression even deeper, after years of watching folks with high-stress jobs like food bloggers, dog-walkers, or professional SKYPErs buying a vacation beach home or a mountain get-away for more than a professional athlete’s signing bonus, there’s a new version called “My Lottery Dream Home”. It features lottery winners picking out new homes of – you guessed – their dreams. David Bromstad, an HGTV veteran designer-turned-real estate agent, hosts the show. [NOTE: He’s impossibly perky, particularly as I’m not the client.] Last week really didn’t help my mood. It featured a pleasant couple, and I was happy for them until the wife disclosed that she’d “bought a one-dollar quick pick” that turned out to be worth 4.5 million dollars. You’ve got to be kidding me. I can’t even find a one-dollar quick pick around here. Everything starts at two-dollars. Nobody on these shows ever says, “I invested our entire life savings on lottery tickets – ten thousand tickets. If we hadn’t won, we’d have been in deep trouble.” Rather, it’s always – “I had to stop by the convenience store on the corner for some bug spray, and on impulse bought a scratch ticket. That’s how we won two million dollars.” What the heck – I’ll pop over to the variety store around the corner and buy a case of bug spray if that’s what it takes.
There is an art to spending lots of newly acquired wealth. Sadly, many of these new winners don’t have the skills and appreciation, which I of course do, to really maximize the joy of winning. I do applaud many of them for not spending their entire winnings on the new house. They do seem to exercise restraint. A recent winner in the mid-west won a million dollars and had a working budget of about a hundred-fifty thousand. Of course, what he ended up with in the cornfields of someplace would, for most of us, have needed a substantial overhaul, but it did have a large barn for his “shop”, and place to park the pickup. It had the curb appeal of a 7Eleven. Actually, there was nothing for miles around. It looked like one of those home/barn combos you see surrounded by floodwaters near the Mississippi. But this guy was delighted with his purchase, and that’s great. My first advice to him would have been to buy as far away from here as his money would get him. David (I’ll call him “David” because I feel now that I know him) typically shows the winners three options that a local agent has selected for him. Unlike the usual House Hunters, where the couples don’t like much of anything they see, these people really give every outward appearance of being very happy with their choices. On House Hunters, folks have their hearts broken weekly if kitchen cabinets aren’t white, decks don’t seat a thousand for entertaining, the master bedroom is smaller than a football field, and the very mention of carpeting sends them running for the door. The lotto winners seem to be happy with everything, or they can redo later at their leisure. On one recent episode, again in the middle of nowhere, they had their final “selection” meeting in a local eatery that was so noisy, David and the couple were practically shouting at each other. Another lottery, one of very few in New England, was right in our area. I know what you’re all thinking – that could and should have by all rights have been me.
And so, the wait goes on. Four dollars this week, which covers about half of what I spent on the tickets. It’s a start. It keeps the flame alive, the anticipation building. Just so you know, I don’t plan to spend lavishly, just tasteful elegance. That’s more my style. Nobody will know that I’ve come into big money. Ok, maybe the Bentley in the driveway could give a subtle hint. When we disappear for a few winter months to our little four bedroom /six bathroom getaway with a view of Diamond Head, that might suggest something has changed. Can someone tell me why everyone needs so many bathrooms these days? Everyone in every family needs to bathe and/or pee at the same time, apparently. But I digress. So, for now, I’ll continue to exist on my pension and the ad revenue pouring in from my thousands and thousands of faithful, devoted readers of my humble blog. Oh, wait . . . As I said, four dollars to reinvest. Lotto or scratch ticket? Dilemma for the ages. By this time next week, I’ll be writing to you all from our river cruise in central Europe over a glass of lightly chilled Chardonnay. I’ll give Prague and Budapest your fondest regards. Somehow, though, I’m thinking . . . . . . .wait – do I need bug spray?
I'm Thinking...No! 