Y'see, I happen to be one of those idiots who goes around saying stuff like, "I need to win the lottery" and "One of these days, I will win the lottery" (kinda like how you vow to wash the windows but never seem to get round to it) without ever actually buying a ticket. I've never bought a ticket; I just don't see the point. If there's a greater chance of being struck by lightning than there is of winning the lottery, then, statistically speaking, isn't there more chance of me becoming a millionaire via, I dunno, doing something dumb like going on TV and singing a crap, overly-autotuned song whilst shaking my heavily-airbrushed arse?
The thing is, last Friday, I was almost struck by lightning.
Of course, almost isn't exactly the same thing as actually being struck by lightning. One entains wiping your brow, going, "Phew! That was close!" and telling everyone you know about your brush with death, and the other one entails, well... death (or, if this were a comic book, me developing superpowers, donning a dorky-looking suit and saving the world from some evil, cackling villain with a bad haircut). See, what happened was, I was on my way home from work, when the sky, heaving with grey all afternoon, suddenly gave way and I became soaked from head to toe within the space of about five seconds. I didn't have an umbrella on me (and I call myself a Londoner, pfft), and of course I'm too
It got a bit ridiculous after about a minute, though. My headphones were still in and I was worried the rain would get into them and they'd break, my vest top was sodden wet and clinging to my stomach, and I was aware that my mascara had probably run all down my face; so I began to contemplate that, alright, maybe it was time to break into a run. And it was then that the sky seemed to click like a camera around me, and in the split-second that followed, I wondered who in Santa's name was trying to take a photograph of me while I was in such a wet, panda-eyed state. Then I found the ground literally shake beneath me, and I believe my thoughts went something along the lines of, "Ohhhhh shit."
So at the exact moment the alarm of the car beside me went off, I broke into a run, bag slamming against my body, boots slipping against the wet paving stones, colliding with various lampposts and wheely bins as I went. My top caught on one of the dustbins and sent the thing flying across the street, and some guy opened his front door and started yelling at me. I didn't hear what he was saying, because of course Usher was still rather inappropriately going on in my ear about Nicki Minaj putting her hands in some lady's pants (or something along those lines), but I think he was either accusing me of a) trying to steal his car, or b) trying to steal his rubbish. Had I not been on the verge of drowning at the time, I probably would have turned around, gone up to him and chucked the contents of his dustbin over his head, but alas! 'twas not the appropriate weather for acts of revenge.
I made it home safely seconds later (like I said, I'm a speedy bugger), shaken (but not stirred), and recounted my tale to my family with the odd feeling that either I was extremely lucky to have escaped being hit by lightning, or extremely unlucky to have come so close to being struck by lightning. It depends on whether you're a glass-half-full or glass-half-empty kinda person.
I suppose the lottery equivalent of almost-getting-struck-by-lightning must be getting all numbers but one and coming away with a tenner, so perhaps in that sense it might be worth forking out a quid and making 900% profit...
But then again, I am a bit of a lazy arse, and after that brief sprint home last week, I feel as though I've exercised enough for the next month. Therefore, I'm not so sure a measley (and still very, very unlikely) £9 is worth the effort.
Meh.
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