1-2-6-9

I never play the lottery. It’s a combination of never thinking about it and also knowing it’s ultimately a waste of time and money. I might play once or twice a year, when the MegaMillions or Megabucks is up to $300 or $400 million. For some reason, a lottery with a $100 million prize isn’t quite enough for me to play but if it hits 300 or 400 and the media starts paying attention to it, I’ll buy a ticket. That probably doesn’t make a lot of sense, but neither does playing the lottery all the time.

In my bedroom there’s a box in the corner with a four digit number written on it in magic marker, 1269. I see it every single morning when I’m getting dressed, and I always say to myself, “hey, I gotta play that number one of these days.” Yesterday I was typing on this very keyboard, and there was an envelope to my left. It had the same exact number on the front. I knew that was a sign that I really had to play the number. It was fate. But, because I never play the lottery and never give it much thought, I didn’t buy a ticket.

The number came up last night.

I wouldn’t have gotten them exact (the number drawn was 6-1-2-9), but I would have hit them mixed up a few ways and I would have won around $400. Not an earth-shattering amount of money, but…actually, right now, that is an earth-shattering amount of money to me.

I feel like I’m in an episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Only in the episode I would probably actually buy the ticket and then throw it away and I’d have to dig through garbage to find it and at the end it will turn out someone else, probably the attractive blonde co-worker I never had the guts to ask out, found it and won all the money. And I would be played by someone like Dick York.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go throw that box away so it doesn’t mock me every morning.

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