Luck Be a Lady

Little known fact: I have a tendency to vent my troubles to just about anyone who will listen to or (Gasp!) read about them. Also, I’ve always got a sympathetic ear to someone with a broken heart—I have to pay the universe back for the amount of bitching I do. So, one sunny day this week, I found myself commiserating with a beloved New York City doorman about women and the drama that ensues upon each broken-hearted scenario that befalls us. His girlfriend of two years just left him and so we got to talking about women and how life seems to be a revolving door of opportunities and disasters coming through with equal fervor. I asked him why it always seems like we know which ones are going to work out and which ones aren’t, but can’t help ourselves from going down the same road with both kinds of girls whenever they come into our lives.

Then the most sage words I have ever heard came through Eric’s thick, Brooklyn accent on a Tuesday afternoon:

“Listen. Women? They’re like lottery tickets. We’re all out there lookin’ for that million dollar jackpot, right? So we keep runnin’ to the store, hopin’ it’s our lucky day because we want The One to fall into our hands—that winning ticket that says we don’t have to run to the store no more, we’re set for life. But that doesn’t happen every day. And sometimes, sometimes ya buy a ticket, ya scratch it off, and ya see ‘Hey, I won twenty bucks!’ And ya like, ‘Yeah, I’ll spend that.’ And ya do. And when that twenty bucks runs out, ya go buy anotha ticket. Some turn out to be a hundred bucks, some only five, but ya always spend the money when ya get it, and ya always go back to the store when it’s time. Because hope springs eternal, and we’re all a bunch-a-suckas.”

Well put, Eric my man, well put indeed.