The Weekly Shriek -- What We'd Do With It

Got a buck? my husband asked.

"You've got the debit card," I said as I pulled the Acura into a parking spot in the Shop N Save lot near our house. "Why do you need cash?"

"The lottery is up to $300 million. I figure that's worth putting a dollar down to be in the race."

I pointed to my purse in the foot well near his knee. "Three hundred million is the motivation point?"

He unzipped my bag and rummaged for my wallet. "That's it."

"Not 299 million?"

"Nope, a million too short." He held up a crumpled dollar bill and grinned. "It's a risk/reward decision."

"I see. So it has to go to $600 million to make it worth betting $2?"

"Something like that." He rushed off to buy our future.

I was evaluating the dietary merits of Dove versus Hershey's dark chocolate when he caught up with me.

"Get a good number?" I asked.

"Lots of fives and sixes - and eleven for the big one."

"Your lucky number?"

"We'll see."

I dropped a bag of chocolate into the grocery cart.

"Are you sure you want that?"

"Why?""Hershey's cheaper."

"It's an impulse buy," I scowled at him. "Perhaps we'll hit the jackpot and next time I can buy Godiva."

"We hit the jackpot and we'll buy a new Volvo." He rubbed his palms together in simulated glee.

"Not me," I said as we by-passed the produce section. "I'll just update the Acura."

"We could take a world cruise."

"Okay." I stared at the grocery cart. It was empty except for a box of Bayer Women's Low-Dose Aspirin and the bag of Dove Extra-dark chocolates - both evidence of my advancing age. "Maybe I'd get a tummy tuck," I said. "And a face lift."

"I could use a new laptop," he said as we started down the cereal aisle.

We examined the nutritional labels on a box of Cheerios, replaced it on the shelf and turned toward pickles, sauces and dressings. "I'd get an iphone."

"That doesn't count," he said as we cruised past the deli. "You'll do that anyway."

"I didn't know there were rules here."

"Dreams don't count if you'd do them anyway."

"In that case, the Acura and the Volvo don't count." I put two cartons of strawberry yogurt into the cart.

"Let's sell the house and just travel around -- and live on room service."

"I don't like room service," I said. "Maybe we'll just eat at Morton's more often."

"There isn't a Morton's in Pittsburgh."

"There's one in San Francisco," I gazed at the cartons of Ben & Jerry's.

"There ya go," he said. "We'd fly to Frisco for dinner, spend the night in Seattle, have breakfast in Vancouver - be back in Pittsburgh in time to watch The Closer."

I put Chunky Monkey and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough in the cart. "Okay, so far we've spent a couple hundred thousand - if we leave big tips. Seems like our desires are pretty paltry."

"Maybe we need to think bigger - like buying a plane or a boat or an RV." He threw in Cherries Garcia.

"If we buy anything like that, we have to take care of it. I don't want to be responsible."

"Good point," he said and put the Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough back into the freezer.

I raised an eyebrow.

"It'll sit in the fridge for weeks and then you'll say you can't eat it cause it's old," he explained.

I shrugged. "You're right. Let's go for Coldstone."

We paid for the food at the automated checkout counter and headed toward the door. "What about clothes?" I asked.

"I got everything I need."

"Shoes?"

"Well, the Spider Rubber on my Teva Sandals is worn out, maybe a new pair of those?"

"I need some new panties," I said as we got into the Acura. "Maybe I'll buy the ones that cost $20 a pair."

"Ooooo - big spender!"

"Maybe we should move up from the penny slots?"

"To what? Five dollar slots?""Oh my God, that wouldn't be any fun - it'd make me too nervous."

"Wimp," he laughed. "The fact is -- we can't spend 300 million in our lifetime."

"Maybe we should just put back 10 or 15 million for our old age -- and give the rest away."

"We could give it to the kids."

"Definitely - but they will get what's left over from our 15 mil anyway. In the meantime, maybe we should give them 20 million each. They are younger - they'll need more."

"That's only 40 million."

I pulled up in front of Coldstone Creamery. "Okay, so we give Nate's wife Nora and Carmel's husband Wayne 20 million each too. That way everyone's even."

"That leaves $175 million."

"Hmm. Well, maybe we could break it up into packages of 10 million each and give to our 17 ? closest friends."

We ordered our ice cream and sat down at a tiny table to eat it.

"Let's see," I said as I savored my Sweet Cream and Chocolate Chip. "I have two sisters, you have two sisters and a brother."

"There's Larry."

"My writing partner Pat, Anna Marie, Pittsburgh Carolyn and Glendale Carolyn, Kathe, my cousin Karen, Helen - how many is that?"

"That's only thirteen."

"Hmm. Well, there's my friend Mike - and Jim in Chicago. Lloyd and Hodge. Mindy and Dale."

"What about our college chums?"

I nodded. "And there's all the people we've worked with over the years."

"And all the people that were ever good to us - like Wally and Peggy?"

"We could divide that $175 mil into 35 shares of 5 million each," I suggested as I began to see the magnitude of the problem. "That would mean more folks would get a piece."

"Well, if we were gonna do that, why don't we just give a million dollars to 175 people?"

"Yeah. Let's do that."

We finished our ice cream and got back into the Acura. As we pulled out onto Washington Pike and headed for home, I said, "Would you really do that?"

He smiled and squeezed my knee. "Definitely."

"Whether they deserved it or not?"

"Everyone deserves it."

"Cool."