Holding it All Together: If I Win the Lottery

By Amy McCollom
When a winning lottery ticket is sold in your own hometown, it brings to mind the faded possibility of sudden life-changing wealth. Here is my take on winning the lottery, in the style of the book, If You Give A Mouse A Cookie by Laura Numeroff.

If I win the lottery, I would buy a great big house with lots of rooms. And Everyone would have their own room, and I would have a mom cave and John would have a man cave.

If I were to buy a great big house, I would want to get new furniture. I wouldn’t want to keep this 30-year-old coffee table that we gather around on Friday nights to eat pizza and watch movies in the living room, squeezed in tightly onto our second-hand furniture with green slipcovers to hide the claw marks that our pets made.

If I got new furniture, I would have to get rid of our pets so they wouldn’t damage our new fancy furniture and I could keep it looking nice and new. I probably would not let the kids hang out in the living room either, since kids are messy and would spill things on the new furniture. So the kids would spend a lot of time in their own rooms.

If the kids spent a lot of time in their own rooms, we wouldn’t talk much. I wouldn’t know what they were doing, or thinking or believing and they would grow up under influences that were not my own. My daughter would probably get into an online romantic relationship with a 40-year old “rocket scientist” who still lives with his mother in Pittsburgh. My son would grow a beard, shave his legs, and hang Bernie Sanders posters up in his room while wearing “Communism is Cool” t-shirts. So I would spend time in my mom cave and try to be entertained.

If I hid in my mom cave, I would get bored and sad. It would be very quiet, pink and lovely, but quiet, and there would be nothing to pet or purr. All the animals would be gone and I would be lonely, so I would walk all the way across the house to visit my husband in his man cave.

If I visited my husband in his man cave, he would be seated in his brown leather, custom heated massaging recliner, facing 15 HD screens on the wall, all showing some sporting event in progress. A state of the art robot wearing an apron and named Giselle would be making him a microwave pizza and fetching him icy cold cans of Coke Zero at his beck and call. Between his shouts of “Yeah!” and “Oh, Come on!!!,” he would not have time to talk to me. So I would go sit by myself on my new furniture in the living room.

So if I sit by myself in my big house on my new furniture without my pets or family around, I would realize that I was much happier when we all lived closer together in our small house, even with second-hand furniture that had green slipcovers to hide the claw marks from our pets, and even though we had to squeeze together around a 30-year-old coffee table to eat pizza and watch a movie on Friday nights.

And that is why I did not buy a lottery ticket.

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