I rarely win things. Which is why I don’t play the lottery. And also why I think I should play the lottery. Because I won’t be expecting it when I hit the mother lode.
This week, I won one of four raffle prizes at George’s school. It was a $100 Visa gift card.
“So, watcha gonna do with it?” asked mom after mom after it was presented to me at morning drop-off.
“You should get a pedicure,” suggested the first.
“Or a massage,” suggested the second.
“Or pay a bill!” overly enthusiastically suggested the responsible (and not terribly fun) third who shall remain even more anonymous than the first two.
This morning I found myself in Barnes & Noble with a $100 Visa gift card burning a hole in the lining of my overstuffed purse.
Since Barnes & Noble has the air conditioning on in the dead of winter (and, by “dead of winter” I mean days when the low is 48) I first headed to the cafe for coffee.
As I topped off my Christmas Blend with some 2% milk, I froze mid-pour at the sound of something almost other-worldly.
“Dorothy, what will you have?”
Before I turned around, I knew that Dorothy couldn’t be younger than 80.
And she wasn’t.
There she was, in her almost skin-color (but off just enough to be pretty horrifying) compression hosiery. Her comfy and practical — but not altogether stylish — black shoes. Her just-below-the-knee-length beige wool skirt. Purse hanging daintily from her forearm, made-for-Minneapolis fur hat atop her white curls. Holding the hand of her beloved companion.
“Just a cup of coffee, George,” she replied.
“No bagel?” he asked.
“No, not today.”
In the two minutes that followed, Nina could have crawled out of her stroller and run out of the store into oncoming traffic without my knowledge had she wanted to.
I was completely engrossed in my own fabricated story that is, in my own little world, that of Dorothy and George.
Their initial courtship. Their first holiday together. The little box wrapped in gold wrapping paper and painstakingly tied with a red bow that awaits Dorothy under this year’s tree.
As they shuffled to a table in the corner, George carrying Dorothy’s coffee, I immediately knew what I’d do with my $100 Visa gift card.
I’d give it to David.
To put (and, hence, complete) his must-have-TV-of-the-decade fund. For the Sony Bravia flat-screen, Blu Ray TV that he informed me the other night — with the wanting of a 5-year-old but the restraint of a 60-year-old — is on sale for an unprecedented amount at Target.
Because, in 50 years, I won’t remember the pedicure. Or the massage. Or the books I could have bought. What I will remember is the look on David’s face when he plugged that TV in and turned it on. And the hope that one day, if the fates allow, he’ll hold my coffee for me as we shuffle off to our own corner table.
To Dorothy and George, Happy Holidays!
