Carol’s Column

Congrats, for thousands of us, might be in order

I WAS so excited. Well, anyone would have been because it's not every day that you hear you are about to win R10 000.

The letter arrived in the post. An inauspicious looking missive in a white envelope with yellow trim. On the surface of it, there was nothing to tell that the contents of the envelope might change my life.

It looked official so I opened it wondering which bill I hadn't paid and, to my surprise, out popped a letter saying "Congratulations Mrs R Lazar, You could be the winner of at least R10 000."

Ten thousand rand? Good heavens. With 10 000 unexpected rands, my life would change. I would eat feta cheese three times a day, preferably on a Greek island, learn to hang-glide and have a stoutly-built and well-muscled masseuse on 24-hour call.

I read on. "Your name was specially selected from thousands and the good news is this. YOU have been selected as a finalist in the R10 000 Sweepstakes! Yes it's true ... your name was among those who will be entered in the final Sweepstakes draw!"

It went on to say that not only was I in the running for R10 000, not a sum to be scoffed at, but that I could win one of eight BIG prizes. To do this I had to send in the Sweepstake Reservation Certificate/Order Form immediately and a quick response would enable me also to qualify for an Early Bird Bonus Prize of R5 000. Which would then bring my total winnings to R15 000 plus a free travel clock.

However, there was a slight snag. It seemed that to be in the running to win my R10 000 plus R5 000 plus free travel clock, I had to order a pure wool duvet (queen size) for a deposit of R29,95 and six monthly payments of R84,95, which added up to R539,65. Alternatively I could send in a cheque for R399,95 plus R69,65 sales tax which added up to R469,90 — a sort of cash discount.

With R10 000, a R5 000 early-bird bonus, a free travel clock and a R539,65 pure wool duvet, we could live happily ever after.

I phoned my husband. "Come home immediately," I shrieked. "I've got great news, your life is about to change."

"You're running away with Arnold Schwarzenegger?" he said hopefully.

"So?" he enquired later as he walked through the front door and kissed the dog who was sitting on my chair in front of the fire. "I like your new hairdo," he added.

"Put on your glasses," I said, "I'm over here."

"We've almost won R15 000," I told him breathlessly and showed him the letter.

"C'mon," he said after he'd read it. "This is a way to get you to buy a pure wool duvet. The likelihood of you winning R15 000 is remote. It's just a clever marketing ploy."

"Well, I think it's irresistible," I said. "And, at the worst, we'll have a wool duvet to keep us warm at night for a bargain."

My husband responded in typical spouse-like manner. He poured himself a whiskey, opened the newspaper and then bellowed: "Ho, ho."

Transvaal must have won a Currie Cup match I thought to myself.

But no. "Look at this," he shouted.

I looked over his shoulder and there, in the paper, was an advertisement for pure wool duvets (queen size) with a 100 percent merino sheep wool filling for only R285,98.

"That's R249,69 cheaper than the other pure wool duvet," he said. "So assuming that's the going price for pure wool duvets, what you're doing is paying R249,69 on the off-chance that you might win R15 000. It's a racket. It's like buying a lottery ticket for that amount.

"To pay R10 for an Operation Hunger ticket with the possibility of winning R1-million is a bargain. This is ridiculous."

My R15 000 fantasy and free travel clock dissolved. The small island on which I'd built my dream palm-frond hut complete with sauna, jacuzzi and massage room, vanished. Instead of swanning around in designer silk culottes sipping French champagne and nibbling feta cheese, I was doomed to mass-produced, off-the-peg blue jeans and mince on spaghetti forever.

That night as we lay together in the marital bower and I placed my freezing feet upon my spouse and he almost fell out of bed with shock, I murmured sadly: "We haven't even got a pure wool duvet. Life is cruel."

My husband is a man of infinite resources. Yesterday when I arrived home, I disappeared in the kitchen in order to create yet another delectable mince dinner when I heard strange noises. "What is that?" I asked, "it sounds as if the dog is barking with a sore throat."

"That's our pure wool duvet growing in the garden," he answered. "I wanted to make you happy, so I phoned the municipal pound and brought home three sheep. In a year's time we'll have our own home-made queen-size duvet."

So who needs R10 000, a R5 000 early-bird bonus prize and a free travel clock anyway? Baa to you too.

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