Chapter 9 How scary can a few numbers be in the first part? -9

set a good example When I got to my parents' house, they were arguing about something.Dad was standing in the middle of a stepladder in the garden poking at the gutter on the side of the house, while Mum was sitting at a round wrought-iron table, leafing through a copy of the Past Times, a shop specializing in reproductions of medieval England.catalog of products.Neither of them looked up as I entered the courtyard door. "I'm saying they should set a good example!" Mom was saying. "You think exposing themselves to danger is a good example, don't you? You think that's going to solve the problem?"

"Dangerous!" mum mocked. "Don't be so sensational, Graham. Is that what you really think of British society?" "Hi, Mom," I said, "Hi, Dad." "Becky would approve of me. Wouldn't you, honey?" Mom said, pointing to a page in the Past Times, "What a beautiful cardigan," she added, under her breath, "Look at that embroidery!" "Of course she wouldn't approve of you!" Dad retorted. "That's the funniest idea I've ever heard." "No, it's not!" mum said indignantly. "Becky, you think it's a good idea for the royals to travel on public transport, don't you, dear?"

"Well..." I said cautiously, "I really don't..." "Do you think the Queen should take the 93 bus to her official appointments?" Dad quipped. "Why not? Maybe the 93 bus will become more efficient this way!" "So," I said, sitting down next to Mom, "what's going on?" "Do you realize this country is on the verge of a major traffic jam?" Mom said, not seeming to hear me. "If more people don't start using public transport, our transport will fail." Dad shook his head. "You think that the queen can solve the problem by traveling on the 93 bus. But you haven't considered the safety issue, and you haven't considered that she can't do anything except dating..."

"I don't mean the Queen has to be," mum countered, after a pause, "but some other people. Princess Michael of Kent, for example. She can travel a lot on the Tube, can't she? These people need to understand reality Life." The last time my mom took the subway was around 1983. "Shall I make coffee?" I said smartly. "If you ask me, I think the traffic jam thing is total bullshit," Dad said.He jumped off the ladder, dusting off his hands. "It's all propaganda." "Propaganda?" Mom exclaimed angrily. "That's right," I said hastily, "well, I'm going to boil the water."

I went back into the house and after plugging in the kettle in the kitchen sat down at the table where there was a nice patch of sunshine.I've forgotten what Mom and Dad were arguing about, they just go round and round and agree that it's all Tony Blair's fault.Anyway, I have more important things to think about.I racked my brains to figure out how much I should give my boss, Philip, after winning the lottery? Of course I couldn’t leave him out—but isn’t it a bit tacky to give money? Wouldn’t it be better to give a gift? Maybe, a Dressy cufflinks; or, a picnic basket full of dishes. (Claire Edwards, obviously, I'm not giving him anything.)

Sitting alone in my sunny kitchen, I feel a glorious little secret lurking inside.I'm about to hit the jackpot! Tonight, my life is about to change.God, I can't wait. £10 million! Come to think of it, tomorrow I can afford anything I want.anything! The newspaper in front of me happened to be the real estate edition. I picked it up without any worries, and carefully studied the expensive mansions in it.Where should I live? Chelsea? Notting Hill? Mayfair is located in a high-end residential area in the West End of London, England. It was named after the exhibition held here every year before 1708. ?Belgravia is an upper-class residential area centered on Belgrave Square in the UK, located in southwest London.It was established in the 1820s. , I read, a luxurious residence with seven separate bedrooms, with attached servants' quarters and lush gardens.Well, that sounds pretty good.I can do just fine with these seven bedrooms in Belgravia.My gaze moved triumphantly down to the price, then stopped there in shock. £6.5m; that's their asking price. £6.5 million!

I was stunned and slightly annoyed.Are they serious? I don't have £6.5m at all.I'm left with maybe... maybe £4 million, or maybe 5 million? Whatever it is, it's not enough.I stared at the newspaper, feeling like I was being teased.People who hit the jackpot should be able to buy whatever they want - but I already feel miserable and poor. Angrily, I pushed the newspaper aside and reached for a complimentary booklet full of pictures of gorgeous white duvets, priced at £100 a piece, which was about the same.After winning the lottery, I'll just have a brand new white duvet, I decide.I'll also have a white iron bed, painted wooden windows, and soft white dressing gowns...

"So, how is the financial world doing now?" Mom's voice interrupted my thoughts, and I looked up.She was hurrying into the kitchen, the Past Times catalog still in hand. "Is the coffee ready? Hurry up, hurry up, baby!" "It's coming." I said and moved a little on the chair.But, as I expected, my mother was still standing in front of me.She reached for a ceramic storage jug—I'd never seen one before—and scooped up the coffee, pouring it into a new gold coffee jug. Mom is just too much.She was always getting new kitchen appliances - she only gave old ones to Oxfam.New teapot, new oven...we've had three new litter boxes this year - dark green, then chrome and now yellow translucent plastic.I mean, what a waste of money!

"This dress is beautiful!" she said, as if seeing me for the first time. "Where did you get it?" "DKNY." I replied vaguely. "Very beautiful," she said, "is it expensive?" "Not too expensive," I said without thinking, "about fifty pounds." This is absolutely not true.The dress cost almost £150.However, there is really no need to tell mom the real price because she suffers from coronary heart disease.Or, in fact, she'd tell Dad first - and then they'd both have a coronary and I'd be an orphan. So what I did was I introduced two systems at the same time: "true price" and "mom's price."It's a bit like when everything in the store is 20% off and you go around and mentally mark down everything.After a while, you become very sophisticated.

The only difference is that I run a floating discount system, kind of like an income tax.Starting with 20% off (if it really cost £20 I'd say it cost £16) the discounts go up... well, even 10% off if necessary.I once bought a pair of tall boots for £200 and told my mum they were on sale for £20.She actually believed me too. "So, you're looking for an apartment?" she said, glancing over my shoulder at the real estate section of the paper. "No." I said unhappily, quickly turning a page of the booklet.My parents were constantly nagging me to buy an apartment.Do they know how much it costs to buy a flat? I'm not talking about Croydon flats.

"Thomas appears to have been in Reigate, a borough in the south of England, a residential suburb of London. Bought a very nice little house and ready to start a family," she said, nodding in the direction of her next-door neighbour, " He commutes to work every day." She said these words in a tone of satisfaction, as if she was telling me that Thomas won the Nobel Peace Prize. "Oh, I can't afford an apartment," I said, "and I don't want to start a family." Anyway, can't afford it right now, I thought to myself.At least until 8pm tonight.Hey, hey, hey... "Having trouble financially?" Dad walked into the kitchen and asked, "Did you know that there are two ways to solve financial problems?" oh god.Don't do it again.Papa's cautionary words. "CB," Dad said, his eyes sparkling, "or MMM." He paused, waiting to see the effect, and I turned the booklet in my hand again, pretending not to hear him. "Cutting down," said Pa, "or making more money. One or the other. Which do you choose, Becky?" "Oh, both." I replied lightly, turning another page of the booklet.To be honest, I almost felt a little sorry for Dad.What a shock it would be to him when his only daughter became a millionaire overnight!