In my life, I would not consider myself a lucky person. I once won a coloring contest at the corner store which came with an oversized stuffed bear named “Tubby” and once, on a scratch off lottery ticket, I scored fifty smackeroos. But even if I was a frequent winner, I would still appreciate each and every fortuitous victory as if it were a million dollars. I would interrupt any moment with my jumping and screaming and smiling until someone calmed me down because they would think something was horribly wrong, when in fact was horribly right.
A raffle fundraiser at our local YMCA found me, an employee, asked to purchase or sell a ticket. Not wanting to convince my family or friends to buy one before the season of school and activity campaigns begin, I shelled out the money and wrote my name and phone number on the ticket. And because I’m often forgetful, I left it in my car and spilled coffee all over it and turned it in in the nick of time.
The call came in, on my birthday, no less, and as expected I danced around like a loon and told everyone I saw, even perfect strangers because I was so excited. Tubby had nothing on winning a ninety-second shopping spree at the grocery store.
Once the excitement came down to a dull roar, my family started telling me exactly what I should be doing. My husband drove us to the store as a family and set up a cart and tried to time me how long it took to get to the meat department, drool rolling down his chin.
In my weary mind, I was thinking of heading for the coffee section, where I could fuel myself and complete my training as a caffeine aficionado.
My children requested the following: fruit snacks, potato chips, and fried chicken. “And if you have time, get some ice cream for dessert.”
The anticipation built for days while we tried to schedule a time for the mad dash. I considered leaving the weight room and heading to the kitchen and do a few sets of bicep curls with bags of flour and chest presses with frozen turkeys, followed by some stretching so I don’t pull a muscle tossing racks of ribs into a shopping cart. I thought about having a tshirt made with some flames shooting out the back. I thought about having my friends strategically placed around the store to make sure I don’t zoom over any innocent customers while I do my mad dash. I also thought about how I could get fried chicken, ice cream, coffee, and prime rib without breaking speed records.
But in the end, I will just smile and jump and run and shop and think about Tubby and hope to not pull a muscle.