Fortune Favors the Gluttonous
Today, I ordered Chinese for lunch.
The Chinese place won’t deliver without a minimum order, which means I got enough food to get me through the weekend. I also got multiple fortune cookies.
Fortune cookies are fun. Fortune cookies from this particular restaurant, however, have historically proven themselves to be less “fortune” and more “non-specific platitudes carefully crafted to avoid all legal liability whatsoever.” They are the equivalent of a luke-warm bath.
Imagine my surprise when I opened the first cookie and it said: “An unexpected windfall will be yours.”
Really? That’s like an actual fortune. Someone was feeling bold at the fortune writing factory.
I already got my tax refund. Any relatives likely to bequeath me anything are already dead. I don’t play the lottery. The only windfall I can envision, frankly, is the wind rushing through the trees while I’m riding, Ro spooking, and me falling.
Not really the fortune I want.
But I had more cookies to check, so maybe they would invalidate the first one. Or counteract it. Or something.
Next cookie: “You have a charming way with words. Write a letter this week.”
Do you see what I mean? That’s not a fortune. On the other hand, maybe writing the letter will secure that windfall for me. Who do I know that reads letters and has extra money hanging around? This requires some thought.
Opening the last fortune cookie, however, requires no thought at all. It’s Friday; who wants to think, anyway?
“Don’t worry about the stock market. Invest in family.”
What? Really? A fortune cookie is advising me about the stock market? That’s more economic awareness than I’ve seen in many living, breathing people. I’m amused. And a little frightened. How did society reach a point where fortune cookies are giving financial advice?
On the other hand, the combination of fortunes suddenly makes sense:
My family can provide me with my unexpected windfall, as long as I write a charming letter.
It’s a nice thought, except that my family is rather large. Figuring out who to send this charming letter to will be a challenge.
Darn it. I knew I should have ordered a fourth dish. I do not have enough information here. I need more. More information. More fortunes. More paper-tasting but strangely addictive cookies.
More cookies. Mmm. Cookies.
I bet I could get a relative to send me cookies, if I wrote a letter. That’s close enough to a windfall for me.
Jane says 28 February 2011
Hilarious.
(Because you write well, and it’s true: Fortune cookie factories are worried about libelous fortune telling.)
I say you write a generic Holiday-type letter (including info that a fortune cookie made you do it, and it is supposed to return money.) and send it out to the whole clan.
A letter like that? I would totally send 5 bucks.