Sunday, October 23, 2005

Riddle me this, Joker.

I don't understand people. And when I say people, I mean people who aren't me.

Me I totally get.

Recently everyone I knew caught Powerball fever. The pot was more than a GoZillion dollars and tickets were being sold like mad. Of course, Mr. Man and I were no exception. We always buy two tickets a week and have for years using the same numbers every time. I won't tell you our super secret numbers, but I will tell you if you knew you'd be all, "Oh, how sweet," because our numbers have to do with our love.


While I would venture to say that most people who buy lottery tickets do so in hopes of winning the grand prize, the OCD Chick does not. In fact, I actually pray that we don't win big. While I'd love to win a million or two at the most, I start flipping the light switch on and off seventy-seven times and washing my hands with Lysol if I allow myself to imagine more money than that.

"If I won the lottery, I'd want everyone I have ever cared about to be rich, too," I announced to Mr. Man after we bought our tickets. "I'd throw a huge party and invite all our friends and family and I'd totally give them bucket loads of money." I was practically bubbling.

He looked at me adoringly and said, "You are an idiot."

See why I love him?

"Why in the world would you do that? Why would you give away all your money? You'd wind up poor and do you think they'd be there to help you when you needed it then?" Mr. Man is a nice guy for the most part, but clearly he has some unresolved sandbox issues from his childhood. Either that or his Mother didn't nurse him long enough.

I don't get it. How could a person sleep at night on piles of jillion dollar bills when you knew your friend across town was still making car payments on their 1976 Pacer? That is inconceivable to me. Money, much like love and sexually transmitted diseases, should be given away. (Quick, someone put that on a t-shirt.)

I decided that my 6'2" bundle of gorgeous was simply stingy with money and since we're going to be poor forever and it will never be a bridge we have to cross, I could deal with that. That is until a day or two later when my friend, the evil red-headed Berta Lou, was going to the hospital for a "procedure" and his I-me-my attitude reared it's ugly head again.

First of all, don't worry too much about Bert. She's gonna be fine. She was just running about a quart low on iron. Although the doctor's can't figure out where the leak is coming from, they do know that she's leaving a puddle in her driveway periodically and her "check iron" light is blinking on long trips.

I love my Berta Lou terrible, so I called her and begged her to let me do something to help while she was in the shop.

"I'll go and hold your hand," I said.

"That's ok. My husband is going," she said.

"I'll break out the fire batons, the tap shoes AND the boobie tassles and do a little show in the hospital," I said.

"Let me get back to you on that," she said. I think I had her interest until I threw in the boobie tassles. I always go too far when I love someone. Some people say if you love something, set it free. I say if you love something, make a complete fool of yourself.

When Mr. Man came home from work, I announced that I was giving Berta Lou a kidney. "Does she need a kidney?" he asked in horror.

"I don't think so, but I love her and you can never be too sure. I'm giving her something. It may be a kidney or a cornea or a hair transplant, but she's my best friend and if I've got a spare part, she's getting it whether she needs it or not. That's what friends do," I could tell he was skeptical of my wanting to donate my body parts to someone who may or may not need them, but he was just going to have to trust my judgment. "Oh...and by the way, you need to give her something, too."

"What? Why do I need to give her something? You're already handing over your innards. I don't have anything she needs anyway."

Now he was making me mad. It's one thing to be stingy with money, but to refuse to have your guts surgically removed for a friend was too much.

"You are so giving Berta a body part, Mister, and that's final! You can either pick the part and we can do this the easy way, or I'll pick the part and we'll do it the hard way. Let me make it perfectly clear that I have no problem donating one of your testicles to my best friend. Now what do you have to say?"

"I say I'm not going to sleep in this house any more."

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