Friday, June 10, 2011

Give Me My Double-Wide

Morning Readers,

     It hurts. Any why shouldn't it? If one drinks off-brand coffee, the subsequent liquifying and evacuation of one's insides shouldn't come as any real surprise. Presently, I've got a Tupperware bowl patiently waiting to catch whats left of my bowels.  I've decided to name the bowl Melvin. Melvin's life will be rough, as I'll be drinking off-brand coffee for awhile. That's what happens when you're on a budget. You cut costs, tighten the old belt, sit on street corners playing a ukelele and waiving your "World's Best Mom" mug at passersby, shouting, "Spare some change. Change or a waffle? Waffle or some dental floss?...toilet paper?" You also tend to believe anyone who says that want to give you money..

     It's been about a year since I signed up. I'd always laughed at the little, old people, flattened by giant checks thrown at their bifocals, but I thought, "What the hey? ". So I entered a Publisher's Clearing House giveaway. Wikipedia assured me I was an idiot, it's statistics clearly showing I had a 1 in 1 Gazillion chance of ever being attacked in the face by a giant, cardboard check. But the thought of picking pieces of cardboard out of my nose was too alluring. While I typed in my birth date, I used the napkin advertising what I'd had for lunch, to dab away tears as I imagined the camera crew on my porch.

"Mrs. Kellerman, congratulations, you've just won three billion dollars. How do you feel?"

"Great, Bob. I mean, my mom always told me I'd have to work for a living, but we sure showed her, didn't we?... And as soon as I buy a phone, I'll call and tell her that."

"Would you like your giant check, now?"

"I'd love a giant check, Bob. Now get off my lawn."

      So I signed up... and didn't win. Never one to quit on the first try (unless we're talking about badminton...because that game's awful) I left myself on the contact list, and opted to keep receiving entry offers. What could it hurt? The chances were slim, but maybe, just maybe, I'd be the exception to the rule. I could be the woman in the orthopedic shoes, dropping her dentures and gumming that huge check, yelling, "Howard..Howard, we can finally buy that double-wide and move to Boca, Howard."
     A year later, and I'm still not a winner. Like a crappy ex-boyfriend, PCH offers keep popping up, offering me things they'll never deliver. Day after day I say, "I can leave you anytime I want. Watch me hit "deactivate", just WATCH me." But then I remember the giant check, the double-wide, personal chefs, a life without frozen pizza, and the fact that we're broke, and PCH lives to stalk me another day.
      Yesterday, I saw a blurb about a woman who'd actually won. This made me feel a.) there are others in the world just as poor and desperate as I am, and b.) Publisher's Clearing House is also responsible for Big Foot, Roswell and jeans that claim to give you a better butt.
     At any rate, my luck probably won't change anytime soon, but I don't have time to worry about that; My inbox just informed me I'm eligible for one of five 2000.00 prizes.. Gotta go..

Until Next Time Readers!