Ivar had just recently celebrated his birthday. The celebration had been a pleasant occasion. His three grown children had visited. They all gave little gifts, for example Ross, the youngest, had given him a card with four raffle tickets for a brand new car. The tickets didn’t win anything but it was the thought that counts!
Then several days later Ross tuned up – just passing – in a brand new expensive car.
“Where did you get that from?” asked Ivar.
“You know that raffle I gave you the tickets for?” said Ross. “I took a couple for myself and won! Isn’t it a beauty?”
It was indeed! Ross took his father for a quick spin around the block. Amazing!
When Ross had gone Ivar rummaged through the waste bin and found his four raffle tickets. The numbers were 43941, 43942, 43944, and 43945. The missing number, 43943, had been the winning number.
Ivar never said beep to anyone. Sometimes it’s better not to know.
I suppose it’s like buying 4 ‘scratchies’ (as a gift) and keeping one for yourself, but how could you live with yourself if your scratchy won and also…how could you not just give the prize to the intended recipient? Did Ross give his dad the tickets after the event? It would appear so.
Do they call them scratchies in New Zealand? Where you scratch the silver surface thingy away to reveal the prize number on the card.
Ivar didn’t exactly raise his ars&hole son well did he.. and the proof shows in the pudding if indeed the missing raffle ticket was kept by Ross.
‘Ivar never said beep to anyone’.
That’s what I like about your stories Bruce. They raise more questions than entail the word-count of the story itself. Haha
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LOL – yes we call them scratchies!
Do you have the expression in any places you hail from of “Not saying a beep”?
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Yes – we have diddly-sqwat!
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Yes, how privileged white men talk.
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As I said to a debt collector once on the phone: You’re hounding me just because I’m black.
It worked!
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My lovely Canadian niece asked if Ivar changed his will.
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Just carry on normally – else the whole family will end up a mess???
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Ivar needs to go tramping over to Ross’s and take whats his.
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I guess you might be right (for once)
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You mean I used it right? “tramping”
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Ha ha! You used it right cos I never noticed that he didn’t trek, he tramped! I hope he doesn’t trip on the way and go arse over kite.
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LOL…I love those phrases… Another one to add to my vocabulary.
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Well, do you know ass over tea kettle?
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Never heard that one…remember Yvonne I’m a thick American lol. I do figure that is the same thing.
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Delighted that some antipodean phrases turn your crank.
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Yes they do! The only ones I have known were the scouse ones I’ve read in books or have seen in interviews.
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The US has lots of equally colourful words and phrases! Including the word “gotten” which I’ve never known how to use. We just say “got”. Incidentally, Shakespeare used “gotten” as well.
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I’ve used that a few times just by habit. You are right though….”got” would work just the same.
The south has a different way. I “reckon” you are right.
I like some of our phrases like “you look rode hard and put up wet”
Also the way southern women will sound nice but it’s a back handed comment with “bless your heart”
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I’ve never heard the tea kettle version.
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Oh, the things i could teach you! 🙂
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I dread yo think!
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We are not used to sequels at Weave a Web, but then here we are exactly as you had promised. The prognosis is understated and yet fraught with emotional tension. Ivar is a gentle soul, and he is incredibly lucky. Unfortunately, his splendid luck is outclassed by the poor run he has had with his offspring. The frivolous gift has exploded in the faces of both dispenser and recipient. The Catch-22 situation is here unfathomably tragic. Poor Ivar can’t even curse the car to crash and kill its passenger. In short, the piece of realistic fiction shines through the anticlimax.
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Thanks Uma! You make it sound like a novel. Perhaps it should be!
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We can wait as you write.
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Like I said, he should ask to drive and drive his son off a cliff!
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It’s called ravine the car up.
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Wonder how the will reads?
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