“Are you going down to the village today” says Herself.
“Nah. I’m not going out at all today. I have a very bad feeling.”
“What do you mean? Feeling?”
“I just know something very bad is going to happen if I go out.”
“I just know that if I drive down to the village I am going to be killed.”
“If I drive today, I am going to come to the crossroads. There will be a woman driving a BMW on the other road. She will be talking on her mobile, and as she comes to the crossroads, she will drop her lipstick that she’s applying using the rear-view mirror. She will bend down to pick it up and will drive straight past the stop sign and into me. I’ll be pushed into the path of an oncoming bus and will be mangled against the wall. Dead. Or a vegetable for the rest of my life.”
” That’s stupid.”
“Why? It can happen.”
“But the odds on that happening are ridiculously small. One in a thousand. Or more like one in a million.”
“But it could happen?”
“Look,” says Herself patiently “with those odds, it just isn’t going to happen. Forget about it. You have a higher chance of being struck by lightning.”
“I suppose you’re right. What did you want in the village anyway?
“I wanted to buy a lottery ticket.”