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By Jan Marshall

Dear PCH,

I am not naive. I didn't believe it for a minute. I did not fall for your teasing when the first three letters arrived.

I have now received 1,708 letters, 2,302 likes on Facebook and 441,780 emails stating that I may be a multi-million-dollar winner.

You hounded me, sending me secret special numbers that no one else had (I felt superior), stating that no purchase was necessary although those little star windows where my magazine order showed through obviously was to warn me that if nothing showed, the envelope was spat upon, burned and flushed down the toilet.

Whew, that was a long sentence.

I haven't budged except to walk two feet to my mailbox. It is not as if I went out to buy a lottery ticket. I was not the aggressor this time. You courted me.

Listen to me. You are not dealing with a kid. I am cynical, been-around-the-block Jan. But even the most wary among us would start fantasizing.

By the 19th  letter, I was seduced. I practiced my twang for my appearances on TV, knowing you would definitely ring my chimes. I have practiced jumping up and down and saying real slowly, ‘I-cain’t-bu leeve-ah-wun!”

Let me reiterate: I didn't contact you. You contacted me. Even though I was originally skeptical, after a while, I became a believer. I trusted you. This is the longest foreplay in the history of life (and while the fantasy is pleasurable, there’s no satisfying conclusion).

So yes, I started returning your correspondence. Just to sort of guarantee that you'd look at my particular envelope I ordered a magazine or two. And then five magazines and 27 more. After I ordered every magazine ever printed in the U.S. of A. and a couple from third-world countries, I started on the specialty supplements, “Decorating with egg boxes,” “What we can learn from pelicans” and “My friend, my fungus.”

True, I could be fun at cocktail parties with this information but cannot leave the premises. I must be here when the money arrives. Strangely, an epidemic would have kept me homebound anyway.

Even before lockdown I hadn’t left my home to be with my lover. He’s very tense and yelling at all his employees, who then go home and yell at their families, who scream at Amazon deliverers — thus, wars start. How do you feel about that, Dave at PCH!

The most horrific part of all is that people were counting on me. All my friends and family were going to be financially free since I was going to give them all a bundle and donate the rest to the Erma Bombeck workshop, Cancer and Brain Tumor Associations and Nordstrom’s half-yearly sale.

I thought I was realistic, beyond those types of reveries, but truthfully, I am easy. Approximately 1,708 promises and I am ready to submit. Hear that fellas! Enough!  I want my money!

“I caint ba leeve ah wun! I cannot ba leeve ah wun!”

— Jan Marshall

Jan Marshall’s life’s work is devoted to humor and healing through books, columns and consulting. A humorist and television host, she is a Certified Master Hypnotherapist. In 1986 she founded the International Humor & Healing Institute. Her board members included Norman Cousins, Steve Allen, Dr. Bernie Siegel and John Cleese, plus other physicians and entertainers. Her newest satirical survival book is called Dancin’ Schmancin’ with the Scars: Finding the Humor No Matter What! As a survivor, she donates a percentage of book profits to the American Cancer Society, American Brain Tumor Association, Wounded Warriors and The Laguna Woods Village Foundation.