Luck of the Irish

The second brightly coloured ball dropped from the big basket and was rolling along the steel track to join up with the first one as Isla came storming out of the kitchen, hurriedly unfolding a little pink ticket.

"Why didn't you tell me it had started?" my wife angrily demanded, plopping herself down on the sofa in front of the television, while fumbling with her reading glasses.

Every week I had to buy Isla a lucky dip ticket for the Megamillions lottery and every Saturday evening, almost without exception, she insisted on watching the live draw on television. Very few excuses were acceptable for missing the Saturday evening lottery show and we recorded the show whenever that happened. I'm not a fan of the lottery, but I'm Irish and I enjoy a flutter on the horses, so I had no objection to buying Isla her lottery ticket every week.

I liked to think I knew something about horses, but I was probably kidding myself. Very occasionally, hoping for a big win, I would take an overly optimistic punt on a rank outsider. At 99/1 or even longer odds, I never had any luck and the nags probably ended up in a glue factory. Realistically, I knew it was highly unlikely a long shot would be successful. In contrast, Isla believed it was only a matter of time before she won the lottery jackpot with random numbers. Never mind odds of 99/1, the odds of her winning the jackpot were 25 million to one.

When I first met her, I thought Isla would make a good match for me. A feisty Scots lassie from Aberdeenshire, she more than held her own in the verbal sparring of everyday life, whether with kith and kin, or with strangers. After three years of marriage I thought her only fault was a yearning for material goods and wealth, possibly due to her Scottish heritage. Personally, I was content with sufficient funds for the simple things in life, like good craic and a few pints in the pub with friends, or a day out at the horse racing. As my old dad was wont to say, enough is as good as a feast.

Transfixed on the edge of her seat, Isla's eyes flicked back and forth between the television and the little slip of paper clutched tightly in her hand. The tension rose as subsequent balls appeared one by one and their numbers were displayed on the television screen.

"Oh my God, Paddy!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with amazement. "I won. I won! I WON!"

"Hold your horses a wee minute, Isla," I quickly interjected. "I've something to tell you."

"No," she immediately replied, jumping to her feet. "I need to tell YOU something. This is MY lottery ticket and it's MY money. I'm leaving you right this minute and I'm going to go and live in a big villa in Spain with Jimmy Riddell. Don't try to stop me!"

Gobsmacked, I sat back in my armchair, my mouth agape and my chin on my chest. The revelation that Isla had obviously been shagging her work colleague had taken the wind out of my sails. As she bustled off, presumably to pack her bags, I wondered whether I should say or do anything to mitigate the unfolding disaster. I decided I better at least give her a chance to change her mind, although I expected it was too late.

It wasn't long before she reappeared, wearing her favourite dress and carrying a small suitcase and her overcoat. By then I was on my feet and ready for her.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked.

"Damn right!" she replied as she walked out the front door.

I had decided not to tell her she had unknowingly been watching a recording of a lottery show from many months ago. Her ticket wasn't a lucky draw. The numbers I had selected were the same as the winning numbers from the old show. It was a daft idea, but today was the first of April and I thought it would be fun to see how she reacted to the idea of winning the lottery. I didn't get the chance to explain it was an April Fool's Day prank. She would find out soon enough.

The only real winner was me. I got rid of a cheating wife for the price of a lottery ticket and won my freedom. Talk about the luck of the Irish!