All you need is a dollar and a dream

For as long as I can remember Sybil has had a weird obsession with scratch off lotto tickets. I can sorta understand the instant gratification of winning, but it just seems like such a low class form of gambling. And if there is anything my family knows about it's class. Why couldn't she be obsessed with baccarat? It would get her that much closer to being a Bond villain. But alas, she likes to buy one dollar, three dollar, and sometimes twenty dollar tickets at the local Quick Check.

Not the point of the story but a funny side note is that when she buys them she usually can't wait to get home and insists on borrowing a penny from the "give a penny, take a penny" jar and scratches them at the counter. In a pinch she will use her mauve finger nail, but rest assured either way she is taking and keeping a penny.  It is very amusing to watch her do this while the people in line behind her have to wait. She gives zero fucks.

During my visit I quickly realized that my mother and five year old daughter both shared a love of scratching. What a great way for them to spend some time together. Both like to make messes and neither know how to read to see if they won. The first night I was there my mother bought a bunch of tickets and gave some to Sophia to scratch (only the dollar ones). Shockingly, winner, winner, chicken dinner! Sophia's furious scratching netted $25! The next morning I was walking out the door when Sybil asked me to cash in the tickets for more tickets.  She gave me very specific denominations to get. One five dollar, one ten, two threes, and four ones. I obliged, and handed her the tickets upon my return and went and hid in my room.

Ten minutes later my kid came in with a sad look on her face. I asked if grandma told her she had my nose again, but as it turns out, what grandma Sybil did was much worse. She scratched all the tickets and didn't share.

I sat there for a second as a little vein started throbbing in my head. I was in Sybil's house less than 24 hours and it was go time.

I jumped on my mother's stair lift and patiently rode it to the first floor to confront her. A million scenarios ran through my head:

A. Do I kill her? Would my daughter be able to keep this quiet?
B. Do I rub the bagel and lox she was eating in her face? I did buy it after all.
C. Do I just yell like a fucking lunatic?

I chose C.

Barry: Are you fucking kidding me? You didn't share with her?  Are you a fucking animal? She is five and your grand-daughter. It was an activity to do together.

Sybil: I bought the tickets, so if I don't want to share I don't have to.

Barry: You really are an asshole.

Sybil: Don't talk to me like that. Where do you want to have lunch?

We went to the Fireplace.