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Never let it be said that you can’t have a good time with a new set of Tup­per­ware and $17.

We had a cou­ple of events last week­end that in­cluded op­por­tu­ni­ties WR SDUWLFLSDWH LQ UDIflHV and 50-50 draw­ings. The thing is, I’ve do­nated and do­nated over the years to UDIflHV DQG 50-50 GUDWings and I’ve got noth­ing — nada, nil, zip, squadoosh — to show for my con­tri­bu­tions. I never win. Ever.

It’s a dif­fer­ent story for The Blonde Ac­coun­tant. While she can’t man­age to hit a win­ning lot­tery ticket — mostly be­cause she doesn’t play and we’ve had sev­eral dis­cus­sions over the years to her pos­si­bly chang­ing her ap­proach on games of chance — she has an un­canny knack for the old “be­ing in the right place at the right time.”

For ex­am­ple, her abil­ity to get a pre­mium park­ing spot –—we call it “ex­ec­u­tive park­ing” in our fam­ily — in ev­ery park­ing lot we’ve HYHU YLVLWHG LV XQFDQQY. $W fiUVW, , thought it was just a co­in­ci­dence, but it’s been a con­stant now for sev­eral years. No mat­ter how full the mall is around Christ­mas­time, she gets a park­ing spot three steps from the door. Ev­ery. Sin­gle. Time.

Buy a lot­tery ticket for cry­ing out loud, will ya!

So when we went to a youth fash­ion show fundraiser last week­end — fea­tur­ing Daugh­ter of Blonde Ac­coun­tant as one of the models — there were a hand­ful of goodie bas­kets be­ing UDIflHG RII. 7KHUH WDV noth­ing that would in­ter­est me — lo­tions and po­tions, a free prom dress (not my size), an ubox, some other hoo-ha that I didn’t even bother ex­am­in­ing and a bunch of bagged and bowed Tup­per­ware.

Now we’ve got more Tup­per­ware in the house than the com­pany has in its en­tire dadgummed in­ven­tory. We ap­pear to have ev­ery sin­gle piece of Tup­per­ware that’s ever been made. For the record, it is not some­thing that I brought to the mar­riage, which should sur­prise ap­prox­i­mately no­body. (I brought a tooth­brush and a lim­ited, but bad, wardrobe.)

Imag­ine my sur­prise, then, when The Blonde Ac­coun­tant plopped a FRXSOH RI KHU UDIflH WLFNHWV LQWR WKH bag to win the Tup­per­ware.

Be­fore I could say, “vou gotta be bleepin’ me,” she gave me the wave off and I went back to my pri­mary func­tion of shut­ting up and hold­ing her purse.

Again, it will come as no sur­prise that fash­ion shows and the LWHPV UDIflHG RII DW IDVKLRQ VKRWV hold lit­tle in­ter­est for me. It is at th­ese types of events where the metal chairs be­come ex­cep­tion­ally hard and my Whin­ing nuo­tient be­comes in­creas­ingly di­aled up.

But I main­tained my com­po­sure ORQJ HQRXJK WR PDNH LW WR WKH UDIflH draw­ing por­tion of the pro­gram.

“Watch, you’re go­ing to win the Tup­per­ware,” I whis­pered to The Blonde Ac­coun­tant.”

“No, I never win any­thing,” she said, which prompted a horse lips from me. It kind of sounded like “Pfffttttt.” Of course, I did it silently un­der my breath so she couldn’t hear it.

The win­ning num­ber for the Tup­per­ware — 85246378582874726 — (I think that was the num­ber, I wasn’t really paying at­ten­tion) was called and whad­dya know, The Blonde Ac­coun­tant just hap­pened to be hold­ing ticket num­ber 85246378582874726.

Of course, I was im­me­di­ately elected Vice Pres­i­dent in Charge of Hold­ing the Tup­per­ware, wrapped in a clear bag with a big ugly bow on it. It is, with­out ques­tion, the ugli­est set of Tup­per­ware in the his­tory of Tup­per­ware that we don’t need.

Af­ter some more fash­ion show hoopla and some other gift bas­ket draw­ings, it was time for the 5050 draw­ing. And with­out fur­ther ado, the win­ning ticket just hap­pened to held by guess who? vep, The Blonde Ac­coun­tant, who by the way did in­deed snag the clos­est park­ing spot to the front door for this event.

Her take home on the 50-50: A whop­ping $17, which is $17 more than I’ve ever won in a 5050 draw­ing.

When all the hub­bub surURXQGLQJ WKH ELJ UDIflH WLQV KDG sub­sided and the event was con­cluded, there was much kib­itz­ing and con­grat­u­lat­ing to be done amongst the fash­ion show par­tic­i­pants, their par­ents and those at­tend­ing the show.

Some of the more am­bi­tious men in the au­di­ence started to put away the metal chairs, but I was in no po­si­tion to lend a hand be­cause I was left hold­ing a big ugly bag of Tup­per­ware and a purse that didn’t quite match my shoes (see ac­com­pa­ny­ing photo.)

The next evening, I was at anRWKHU HYHQW WKHUH WKH UDIflH SULZes were more to my lik­ing — all Phillies-re­lated stuff, in­clud­ing items au­to­graphed by the likes of cur­rent play­ers Roy Hal­la­day and John May­berry Jr. as well as Phillies le­gend Greg Luzin­ski.

For­tu­nately, I was able to keep my nada-nil-zip-squadoosh streak alive by win­ning noth­ing. And for good mea­sure, not even coming close on the win­ning num­bers.

It’s just an­other ex­am­ple, I sup­pose, of me be­ing left hold­ing the bag.

Mike Morsch is ex­ec­u­tive ed­i­tor of Mont­gomery Me­dia and au­thor of the book, “Danc­ing in My Un­der­wear: The Sound­track of My Life.” He can be reached by call­ing 215-542-0200, ext. 415 or by email at msquared35@ya­hoo.com. This col­umn can also be found at www.mont­gomerynews.com.

Outta Left­field Mike Morsch

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