Cruella threw open the door and shouted, “Honey, pack your bags! I won the lottery!”

Her husband said, “I can’t believe it! That’s great! Should I pack for Europe or for an Alaskan cruise?”

Cruella said, “I don’t care. Just get out.”

I wonder why a psychic doesn’t win every lottery?

The lottery is the what-if of all what-ifs. When I read stories about winners of huge lottery jackpots, I cannot help but wonder what if. What would I do if I won a bazillion dollars? I realize that I would have to actually buy a lottery ticket first. I have never done so. I figure my chances of winning are about the same whether I buy a ticket or not.

If you have ever bought a single lottery ticket, you have given winning some thought. Millions of people have lottery fantasies of holding oversized checks. Instant wealth is the song of the Sirens. There is a whole lottery shaking going on. The lottery — all you need is a dollar and a dream. The lottery takes the dollar, but you can keep the dream. Just remember where you put the ticket.

Scratching off a ticket at a convenience store (I remember when we weren’t supposed to scratch in public) and winning the whole kielbasa is the thing that dreams are made of. Buying a ticket brings dreams of wealth beyond imagination and hopes for generous amounts of happiness. We are told that money cannot buy happiness. No matter how many people tell us that, we find it difficult to believe. A life with no worries is pictured, but money creates its own set of problems and accompanying uncertainties.

Approximately one in three people in this country think that winning the lottery is the only way to become financially secure.

The odds of winning a state lottery are 18 million to 1. The chances of being hit by lightning are 1 in 750,000. The odds of becoming the president of the United States is 1 in 300 million. The odds of bowling a 300 game are 1 in 11,500. The odds of being injured by a toilet are 1 in 10,000.

The Hartland Lottery is up to $20 million. That’s a dollar a year for 20 million years to the winner.

I hate to brag, but I am set financially — unless I decide to buy something. I have a treasure trove of ketchup packets from fast food restaurants that I could fall back on in dire times.

If I won the lottery and the prize was so much that it hurt, I would have to spend it. I’d finally be able to afford to go into a Dollar Tree. A bazillion dollars would be quite a pile of cash. I’m not sure where I’d put it.

Maybe I’d just buy more lottery tickets.

I wouldn’t move far if at all. I like to live where my shoes are.

I don’t care for sports cars, so I’d probably buy an old truck with a dog in it or maybe a Corvette minivan.

I would likely purchase a nice cheese grater. I’ve never had my own cheese grater.

My neighbor Crandall told me that his Uncle Crying Charlie won the lottery. Early the morning after learning of his win, Crying Charlie got in his rusty old pickup and drove to collect his money. The lottery official told him that he couldn’t have his winnings in one lump sum. He would receive $250,000 a year for 20 years. This upset Crying Charlie so much that he said, “If that’s the way you’re going to be, here’s your darn ticket. Give me my dollar back!”

Lotteries are volunteer taxes. I don’t buy lottery tickets. That’s good news for anyone who does. That means I am not competition and that your odds of winning have gone up.

My wife, The Queen B, and I started out with nothing. We still have most of it. It is unfortunate that human nature causes us to wish for what we don’t have instead of being thankful for what we do have.

Everyone looks out his or her own window. I think it’s fine that people buy lottery tickets and I think it’s great that people win lotteries. I know that lottery money goes to some good things and I realize that ambition isn’t a bad thing. I don’t misprize money, but I’m still not buying a lottery ticket.

I am rich beyond measure. All I have is all I need. A bazillion dollars is mere chicken feed to what I possess.

I might win the lottery one day.

It will be when Hades becomes a ski resort.

Hartland resident Al Batt’s columns appear every Wednesday and Sunday.