Two. My favorite Constitutional amendment.
Four. How old I was when I first took the Mensa test.
Twenty-three. Michael Jordan’s jersey number.
Thirty-eight. The number of slots on a Roulette wheel
Forty-six. The age I plan to retire.
And Twenty-three? The age I was when I became a man (well, backwards, anyhow).
Every week, those are the numbers I pick. Every single bloody week. But not this week. No, this week, I get sidetracked by the release of Wrath of the Titans. (I wasn’t seeing the film but I was engaged in an intense letter-writing campaign demanding Hollywood not subject us to anymore crap sequels like this.)
And, well, whaddaya know. I forget to pick up my ticket. This one freaking time. One time and what comes up? 2 4 23 38 46 23
and Mega Ball 23.
Damn.
I really hate my life.
