clipart kid
If I were to win the lottery, I know for sure I’d never again board a plane and park my posterior in economy: never again squeeze myself into a rear, middle seat where folks monopolize arm rests, and I stare at the bald spot of the reclined snorer in front of me while a robust child kicks the back of my seat as regularly as a clock ticks. Instead, when I win lots of money, I’ll occupy spacious first-class seats where there’s no need to be unruly and folks sip free drinks without their knees being in the way.
If I hit the jackpot, I’d also do something about shoppers who gather in crowded store aisles to chat with friends they haven’t seen since yesterday or block an aisle with their loaded shopping carts while they wander around in search of turkey pepperoni. I’d hire crotchety, roller-skating referees armed with frowns and whistles to keep traffic flowing during peak periods.
Perhaps my referees could also weed out the people who stand in line at eating establishments to order food and, when it’s their turn, have no idea what they want: “Oh, gee, uh, what kind of sandwiches do you have? Oh, right, yeah, I see the list up there. Um, do you have salads? Well, look at that, you’re right; salads are listed as well. Hmm. Which would you recommend? No, I don’t like avocados. Mary, hey Mary, what are you getting? Nah, I don’t feel like having a burger. Well, maybe I’ll just have soup. What kind do you have?”
These oblivious folks are probably the same people who block traffic while they wait for a car to pull out of a parking spot close to a store entrance when they could easily park a short walk away. This curious behavior is especially galling when the business they want immediate access to is a gym. I’d pay to have their cars towed.
Next, I would replace every wobbly table in every eating establishment in the United States. I hate it when, engaged in conversation, I lean forward to comment and send tidal waves of liquid sloshing into the laps of my lady friends. When I try to fix the problem by bending over — until my rear dominates the landscape — to wedge a balled-up napkin under the errant leg, the wobble worsens; and I lose my dignity.
I would pay someone to (1) produce packaging for dental floss and makeup that can be opened without broken fingernails or stab wounds and (2) to make cell phones that automatically disconnect within five feet of anyone in a public place who doesn’t want to hear a loud conversation about the user’s chronic bladder infection.
And finally, I’d use some of my payoff to offer a huge cash reward for anyone who could put an end to the passwords and personal identification questions required by computer land: “Please select and enter a password with four numerals, one special character, and three letters — two of which must be upper case; in addition, you should provide answers for any two of the following security questions: your middle school’s mascot, your father’s shoe size, and your favorite city with a population between 100,000 and 125,000.” Maybe my money could stop this madness.
You should send your lottery tickets to me. Obviously, I’d make good use of your winnings.
Aunt Beulah 