The Fridge

Betty opened the door. It stank, the milk had gone off and the chicken from the night before looked like a health hazard. It was official, the fridge had died.

“Fridge is broken,” she said passing her husband the dry bowl of cornflakes.

“Christ’s sakes, first cooker and now the fridge.”

Betty sat down at the table and flicked through the paper. Reading page 32 something under the crossword caught her eye.  11, 21, 36, 42, 48, 3. £15million.

She looked up at the ticket on the fridge. 11, 21, 48, 36, 42, 3.

“Bob? Fancy doing some shopping today?”

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