The silly dreams of a billionaire

Whenever I buy Mega Million or Power Ball lottery tickets my mind goes on an unrealistic, silly ride that has no shot of happening. I’ve bought a castle in Ireland, rented Oprah’s house in Maui and purchased a private island in the Caribbean.

The chances of winning are 302,575,350 to one, which is miniscule. But I can’t help it to dream big until my dreams are shattered that night when the numbers finally drop.

I bought 10 tickets Friday for that evenings draw which totaled $1 billion. And then my mind went wild. I drove by the Oakland Pontiac Airport and saw a 24 passenger private jet disappear into the clouds into the west.

Right now I am planning a trip with some of the men in the neighborhood to Wyoming to make my dream of seeing Yellowstone National Park and have a shot and a beer at a cowboy bar coming true. Our initial plans are to rent a RV or SUV for the trip.

The lottery ticket rattling in my pocket spoke to me. It said to dream bigger. I was going to surprise the men on the day of departure and use a private jet as our primary mode of transportation out west.

I imagined that plane filled with freshly baked pizzas, sliders, steamed lobsters and steaks and I saw the sparkly eyes of my neighbor Frank making a toast to the trip with a high end bourbon I never heard of and could not pronounce. We were going high on the hog.

As that plane soared and disappeared into the clouds I had convinced myself that this would happen.

My hopes were buoyed again Saturday morning when wife Abs said the winning ticket was bought in Michigan.

“That was me,” I thought. “I’m still in the game.”

I ran to the kitchen to get my winning ticket. When I returned Abs nearly gave me a heart attack when she said the Mega Ball number was 24. Had it. And the first two white ball numbers were 4 and 26. Had those too. Then my dreams disappeared as she read the remaining numbers.

Zilch. I was not going to be a billionaire. No private jet for the Wyoming trip.

Reality set in and I said something corny to my wife.

“I don’t need to be a billionaire,” I told her. “I am already rich. I have you.”

She smiled and said something nice I’m sure she didn’t mean and we began our day again as regular people. And it was OK.

Find Terry Foster Podcast here:

Published by terryfoster8

I am a 58 year old retired sports journalist, husband and father of two living outside of Detroit in search of his next big adventure in life.

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: