Like when I saw this sign at the gas station on our way to the Berkshires last Saturday morning. I thought to myself, “Hmmm … those would make good numbers to pick at the race track tomorrow.” (Yes, I am weird like that. I have a weird fascination with numbers. Let’s not even go there.)
Look a little more to the left. [Again to self:] “Hmmm, that’s a red horse. That’s a sign. A horse telling me to pick those numbers at the horse track tomorrow. Will I remember these numbers? Where’s my cell phone? I should take a photo of them. Nah, I’ll remember. 5 6 9. 5 6 9.”
I shit you not my friend! And all with a $2 bet. How much did I win? Well, let’s just say that I paid for dinner that night, including a nice bottle of Chianti (not the cheaper one!) and dinner with our friend the next night. Good times. Good times fo’ sho.