(no subject)
Every year, my Aunt gives us lottery tickets for major events and holidays. It’s a simple act, one I suspect is carried on more for tradition than practicality. A thin, two-dimensional card, about twice the size of my palm, even now, has lost the magic it once had. There was a time when I would allow myself to look at the slip of paper and not read the odds of winning inscribed in tiny print on the back. Not consider the paltry amounts that were far more likely to be won. Not even remember that I never won anything anyway. Instead I would look at the card and see only possibility.
Win up to whatever-thousand-card-had-been-chosen-this-time. It would mean allowing myself to spend wantonly, or maybe not worry so much over the costs of my impending college education. Maybe it meant that that trip to Europe wasn’t so far-fetched. Maybe it was just as simple as a surge of joy as you scratch off not, not two, but three like amounts.
A little piece of card, pregnant with possibility.
I don’t think that way anymore. Now reality has intruded, and I remind myself that legally, I can’t even gamble yet, that my chances of winning are unspeakably low. There was a little girl who would call loudly for a coin to scratch it off, and then make sure there was no trace of covering left on each amount before moving onto the next. A minute frown as her shoulders sag in disappointment, and on we go.
But now I toss the envelope down, forgetting its existence for several minutes before a glance assures me of its continued presence. What the hell. Why not? For old times sake.
Three FREE!’s. And one more shot at possibility.
Win up to whatever-thousand-card-had-been-chosen-this-time. It would mean allowing myself to spend wantonly, or maybe not worry so much over the costs of my impending college education. Maybe it meant that that trip to Europe wasn’t so far-fetched. Maybe it was just as simple as a surge of joy as you scratch off not, not two, but three like amounts.
A little piece of card, pregnant with possibility.
I don’t think that way anymore. Now reality has intruded, and I remind myself that legally, I can’t even gamble yet, that my chances of winning are unspeakably low. There was a little girl who would call loudly for a coin to scratch it off, and then make sure there was no trace of covering left on each amount before moving onto the next. A minute frown as her shoulders sag in disappointment, and on we go.
But now I toss the envelope down, forgetting its existence for several minutes before a glance assures me of its continued presence. What the hell. Why not? For old times sake.
Three FREE!’s. And one more shot at possibility.