New Britain, Connecticut
Holding no animosity against God for allowing her to win one million dollars in the Connecticut state lottery in the autumn of her life, Rose Marie-Mathews, a great-great-great grandmother at 88, instead thanks him for having such a great sense of humor.
“I’m no Job,” said the silver haired Marie-Mathews. “I just know when I’m licked.”
As for the proceeds of the winnings, Marie-Mathews says that she will spread what little happiness the money can bring to those that think the world of it with the real gift God has given her: time.
“I knew I was lucky before I bought the wining ticket,” reflects Marie-Mathews, while sipping on a glass of lemonade on the front porch of her modest Connecticut home. “I’ve got two children, eight grandchildren, nine great-great grandchildren and one great-great-great grandchild. And now I have one million dollars. Can you imagine that? One million dollars.”
Then without a word, Marie-Mathews slowly arose out of her rocking chair, opened her creaking screen door and slammed the front door shut.
From behind the closed door, Marie-Mathews could be heard shouting at the top of her lungs to herself.
“Damned if they get their grubby little hands on my million dollars!” screamed Marie-Mathews from inside her home. “Hell, I’m leaving them the house when I’m dead. Isn’t that enough? I bet half of them aren’t really mine grandkids anyways. Besides, they didn’t ask me for permission to be born, and if they would have, the answer would have been no! Damn kids. Think they can take away my million dollars. Over my dead body they will. I’ll blow all up my nose first on some White Lines (cocaine), Meth (another illicit illegal narcotic) or maybe on some of that Chinese Yam-Yam (?) that I’ve been hearing Pat talk so much about on the ‘700 Club.”
Holding no animosity against God for allowing her to win one million dollars in the Connecticut state lottery in the autumn of her life, Rose Marie-Mathews, a great-great-great grandmother at 88, instead thanks him for having such a great sense of humor.
“I’m no Job,” said the silver haired Marie-Mathews. “I just know when I’m licked.”
As for the proceeds of the winnings, Marie-Mathews says that she will spread what little happiness the money can bring to those that think the world of it with the real gift God has given her: time.
“I knew I was lucky before I bought the wining ticket,” reflects Marie-Mathews, while sipping on a glass of lemonade on the front porch of her modest Connecticut home. “I’ve got two children, eight grandchildren, nine great-great grandchildren and one great-great-great grandchild. And now I have one million dollars. Can you imagine that? One million dollars.”
Then without a word, Marie-Mathews slowly arose out of her rocking chair, opened her creaking screen door and slammed the front door shut.
From behind the closed door, Marie-Mathews could be heard shouting at the top of her lungs to herself.
“Damned if they get their grubby little hands on my million dollars!” screamed Marie-Mathews from inside her home. “Hell, I’m leaving them the house when I’m dead. Isn’t that enough? I bet half of them aren’t really mine grandkids anyways. Besides, they didn’t ask me for permission to be born, and if they would have, the answer would have been no! Damn kids. Think they can take away my million dollars. Over my dead body they will. I’ll blow all up my nose first on some White Lines (cocaine), Meth (another illicit illegal narcotic) or maybe on some of that Chinese Yam-Yam (?) that I’ve been hearing Pat talk so much about on the ‘700 Club.”
Copyright 2008 Robert W. Armijo
