Sharmila, Jay Jay, and I were strolling through the Farmers Market in Alpharetta yesterday when a gentleman materialized out of nowhere and handed me a piece of paper — designed to look like a currency bill — and asked:
“I have a fake million dollars for you, for a real million-dollar question.”
That caught me off guard. But I thought, why not play along?
“What’s your million-dollar question?” I asked, neatly folding the bill and tucking it into my shirt pocket with the gravity of a man finishing up a financial transaction.
“Do you think you will go to Heaven?”
Ah. Religious angle. Classic Farmers Market ambush.
Unfazed, I said, “No.”
He was clearly prepared for this. “Do you want to go to Heaven?”
I did the math quickly. Say “Yes,” and he pounces on exactly what I need to do to get there. Lengthy conversation. Cold samosas.
So I smiled and said, “No.”
This one he wasn’t ready for.
“No??? …Why not???” he stammered.
Honestly, I wasn’t ready for it either. But I made the best of it.
“All my friends are in the other place.”
Even he couldn’t stop laughing. Which gave me the exact cover I needed to laugh along, politely excuse myself, and rejoin Sharmila — million dollars richer, and with my eternal destination firmly sorted out.
