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As of this writing, there has been no winner in the Powerball $1 BILLION (why is it that I can’t say that number without sounding like ‘Dr. Evil’ from the Austin Powers films?) lottery drawing.

 

I haven’t bought a ticket, mostly because I’d rather not belong to the chorus of people who claim inflation is killing them, but have no problem burning through twenty bucks worth of tickets because, “Somebody’s gotta win it! Might as well be me!”

 

But it’s not really about winning the top prize, is it? It’s about the several days of dreaming of what you’ll do with your chunk of cash after the payout that’s the most fun. The fantasizing. 

 

I asked Paul what he’d do if he won the Powerball lottery.

 

“Dunno,” he mused. “Travel, probably.” 

 

Hesitating a moment, he added, “And buy a Morgan,” naming his favorite car of all time. 

 

“That’s it?” I asked, surprised. “You travel a lot, now. What would be the difference?”

 

“Well, I’ve never been to Vietnam.”

 

“You want to go to Vietnam?”

 

“I don’t know. I might. The beaches look incredible.”

 

“Where would you park the Morgan?” I persisted. “We don’t have a garage. You’re going to drop a hundred grand on a car that you have to park under a tree and watch it get covered in bird poo?”

 

“I could probably afford to build a garage for it.” Paul countered.

 

“You’d be in Vietnam,” I said. “You’d be trying to order something to eat that didn’t have its head still attached, and wouldn’t be here to oversee the construction. And I can’t be hanging around all day waiting for your garage to be built.”

 

“The last thing I’d do is buy a fancy car,” I said to the empty air after Paul left the room shaking his head. “Then everyone would know I just came into a lot of cash. I’d be smarter than that.”

 

Walking out the front door I eyed the stable and actually wondered if twenty more stalls could be added.

 

I’d write more but I gotta go buy a ticket…