I’ve raised my kids to think that buying lottery tickets is gambling, and gambling is for vagrants, slackers, layabouts, and sluggards.
I just packed those same children into the car after hearing about the $640 million jackpot and zoomed down to the local 7-11 where I bought a fist full of lottery tickets and a Dolly Madison cupcake for Ella. Fiona, my little mini-me, a parsimonious Puritan, pointed out that bad habits come in pairs – “You see?” she said. “You let Ella get junk food at 7-11 before bedtime, and you never do that. It’s because you’re buying lottery tickets.”
Buying lottery tickets: a bad parenting moment that I figure might be over-looked if I win the jackpot.
(It was exciting though! I had to elbow some old people out of my way to get to the cash machine!) (Just kidding!) (I had no idea you can’t use your ATM card to by lottery tickets and I had no idea how to buy one.) (I once wrote an entire short story in the genre of anti-literature in all parenthetical sentences.) (Which has nothing to do with anything, but there you go.) (I am ashamed to tell you that I bought $50 worth of lottery tickets.) (And asked the man if we could pick all of the numbers ourselves.) (He said it wouldn’t be a good idea as we’d be there all night filling out forms and the lottery spin was tonight.)
Fi: “This isn’t right, mommy. You could become addicted to it.” (She is such a Puritan stick-in-the-mud! So like me!)
Me: “Now isn’t the time for standards. If we win, I’ll buy you something.”
Fi: “A horse?”
Me: “If I win not only will I buy you a horse, I’ll buy you the whole gosh-dern ranch.”
Fi: “Never mind about becoming addicted – do it.” (Oh how quickly we forsake our Puritanical standards!)
Ella: “If we win can we turn the garage into a stable?”
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