Day Dreaming About Winning the Lottery

One of the state lotteries was up pretty high last week, so I wasted a few bucks on it.  Ed asked me to in front of the munchkins.  (They’re rapidly growing to tall to be called munchkins.  Dammit.)  The munchkins demanded information about what a lottery was and how much we would win and what we could do with said winnings.  Apparently, with a few million bucks, we could buy a country (I’m not sure which one, but apparently, they’re not too expensive), or we could found a new university (buildings are cheap too), or just one really large house (Logan has wanted a manor house since we started watching Downton Abbey, which is well worth a watch).

We didn’t win.

Are you surprised?

I’m not.  The boys were.  They accused me of losing on purpose, making puppies cry, dashing their aspirations of greatness, killing all of the rainbows in the world, and keeping them from owning their own Nerf field.  There were histrionics.  There were fake tears.

I have no idea where they get it.

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