We went to a family dinner yesterday, at which my sister told us that mortgages are illegal and we can all expect our money back within a couple of years.
She also seemed certain she’d be winning the lottery soon and buying all our houses for us regardless.
I love that heart so very much. I’d do the same, unquestionably, though as I’ve said before, if we really did win the lottery, I’d want to keep that news as quiet as it could possibly be - rather than declare it to the whole of the Toby Carvery.
Anyway. I don’t know where that indefatigable confidence comes from; I don’t have it. I’m the brother who would build a spreadsheet that generates 500,000 rows of six random numbers between 1 and 50, and then calculate how often an input selection of integers matches the numbers in the rows.
To borrow a phrase from my astrophysicist friends, it’s like trying to shoot a bullet with a bullet. Or, I guess, land a lunar rover on the surface of the moon without crushing the astronauts in it.
I don’t think she believes we did that either, by the way. Such is the inertia of an alternative narrative proponent (conspiracy theorist) - if you can see it, it probably didn’t happen.
I’m all for her winning the lottery. Come to think of it, I’m all for the lizard-illuminati who run the world, finally fessing up and giving us back our mortgages in lump sums.
“Way too many rich people,” I said, carefully, “… who are always going to want to either get much much richer, or cling on to what they already have.”
I should have asked her to explain, I think. Perhaps there’s something world-shaking coming that the alternative narrators have seen from their hours and hours of research. I don’t want to rule it out. Nevertheless, it really seems unlikely, given the state of everything at the moment. I think I’d rather fancy her chances with the lottery.
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