I'm Going To Win 1.25 Million Dollars In Cold Hard Cash Today*...


It’s going to be brilliant. They will be giving me a call anytime now to let me know. Of course there is a choice to make - the lovely big house by the beach or the cash - but having stared at the winning ticket stuck to the fridge for the last 5 months I don’t think I need the ‘24 hours to decide’. ‘Cash please!!!’ I’ll say. Or perhaps ‘it would be most agreeable to have the monetary amount offered as the reward if that so do please you.’ I wouldn’t want to sound greedy, or insolent.

I am not by nature so optimistic about things like winning cash, I find optimism clashes with my cynical and sarcastic disposition, but this win I am sure of. I can’t wait.

When they come to my house for the ‘how do you feel after winning $1.25 million interview’ I’ve got my whole feel-good story ready to go. Two little kids, one income, a big fat mortgage…ok it’s not a sob story, being that it is nearly everyone’s story, but it’s what I’ve got.  I will show them the broken window we can’t fix, the kitchen drawer that won’t open, the leaky roof, and the newspaper the kids have to wear instead of shoes…oh no that was just something I read in a book. I will tell them, at the end of the interview for dramatic purposes, that I only bought one ticket because it was all we could afford. And that I didn’t care if I won; I just wanted to support the charity. That should bring tears to their eyes. The truth is that those tickets were so damn expensive that if anyone had the budget to buy more than one they don’t deserve to win a thing, not even a papier-mâché viking helmet.

When they ask me how I will celebrate the win I will say ‘with coke and hookers!’ and they will say ‘with what?!’ and I will laugh and say ‘nah, just kidding’. I will be rich, you see, and will therefore be able to say anything I like and follow it up with ‘just kidding’ or ‘I can’t recall the incident’ and everyone will just nod and smile and tell me how clever I am. But then some overworked camera guy who also bought a ticket (to genuinely support the charity no less) will look at his watch and mutter ‘oh great, a comedian, just what we need’ and I will give him a death stare, and then slip him 200 bucks to laugh at everything else I say. Oh the fun I will have!

A few weeks later, when all the excitement has died down, I will set to thinking about the money and what I will buy. The A3 list of house and car repairs will be done, shoes and handbags will be bought, and the mortgage will get sorted. This will become a haute-couture-one-off-Italian-designer blog that gets modeled by Giselle. Excellent. And what else can money buy? I guess I would like some more time in the day, will it buy me that? No. What about buying my daughter's happiness as she goes through school? Oh. Not so much.That feels disappointing. What about my son’s bravery? My husband’s safety at work? No. The health of the people I love? Not a chance. A cure for MS? Maybe. If enough support goes into research, maybe. If greedy people like me spend money on tickets to their raffles on the off chance they will win big, maybe. Hopefully. It is worth a try. Would I give all the money I won to save my kids or family from suffering MS or leukaemia or anything that most of us can't bear to even think about, or to find a cure if they did? Definitely, and more, and everything, in a heartbeat.

When those interviewers come around I might tone it down a bit. I did sound like a bit of a d*ck when I was rich anyway. Perhaps I will say ‘find whoever can help all of our kids to have a happy, healthy and safe life and grow into strong adults with a loving family, and give it to them’. My kids can wear newspaper shoes for one more year…

*I didn’t win anything, not even a papier-mâché viking helmet.

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