Abracadabra

‘The best thing about being alive,’ I said to my little sister yesterday. ‘Is that there are moments when you feel as though you’re magic.’ My sister looked at me uncomprehendingly. ‘Yes,’ I continued. ‘For instance, riding a bike. There’s no way a person should be able to ride a bike. And yet I can. Magic.’

My sister wandered into the kitchen to get some food, or to avoid me. I followed her quickly. ‘Look!’ I said proudly. ‘See those beers? I bought those.’ ‘Lucy,’ She said firmly. ‘Having money does not make you magic.’ ‘I agree,’ I said. ‘But I got those 7 bottles of beer for £2.50. You know why?’ ‘Because they’re contaminated?’ My little sister asked dubiously, hastily putting her beer back. ‘No,’ I replied crossly. ‘Because one of my ‘skills’, which some  people might call ‘magic’, is to find tremendous bargains.’ ‘No-one would call that magic,’ My little sister told me firmly. ‘Well, ‘ I retorted. ‘Then why do they call them financial wizards?’  

 

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