Like many women of a certain age, I became obsessed by Susan Boyle this past April.  She told my story – a woman of no obvious merit, scorned and ridiculed who suddenly revealed an unexpected talent that wowed the world.

Okay, the first part of the story is mine, the second half is still only in my dreams.  But back to Miss Boyle and my obsession.

By late May, SuBo (as the tabloids called her) was beginning to slip in the Britain’s Got Talent polls and I was worried.  Because of an unfortunate altercation between our two countries two hundred and thirty years ago. I wasn’t going to be allowed to vote in this contest.  Susan might lose and there was nothing I could do to save her.

Then I saw it. A web site advertising, “Susan might lose! Click here to vote Now!”  I clicked, entered my e-mail address without reading the fine print and marked the box that registered my vote for Susan Boyle two days before the final episode of BGT which I wasn’t going to be allowed to watch live because of the aforementioned unpleasantry.

Within minutes of posting my e-mail address, I began receiving advertisements from a lot of businesses.  Fortunately, each ad had a link to follow to unsubscribe.  Unfortunately, each place I went explained that while they were happy to take me off their list, I had given them permission to sell my address to others and they already had.

I patiently followed every link – hundreds of them – for weeks until finally I hit them all.  The advertisements stopped coming in. 

They have been, however, replaced by the most wonderful string of lucky e-mails I have ever received.  Just a week ago I was notified that my e-mail address had been picked from billions around the world for a drawing in the UK.  I’ve won £16 million. (Whatever that is).

But that was just the beginning, since that one e-mail, I’ve won fourteen other lotteries, seven attorneys have discovered that I am the sole heir of their dead clients,  three dying women have written to ask if I would help them distribute their fortunes to charities and a couple of unsavory characters have asked if they could hide their ill-gotten millions in my bank account.

All of this good luck came from trying to help out Susan Boyle.  Now all I have to do is send my bank account number to the lottery people, send in several thousand dollars in release fees to the lawyers, and contact the dying women for more instructions about our partnership, and I’ll be a millionaire.  I’m not going to get involved in those fraudulent hidden money schemes.  I’m no fool.

I just hope Miss Boyle makes as much off of her career as I’m going to.