But, I like them, so here they are, gifts for you on a central Texas, storm on the way, February evening.
Which (if either) do you like better, and why?
Pick the first door, you're filthy rich. Pick the second, the woman of your dreams. Which do you want?"
"And door number three?"
Monty's eyebrows went up. "I don't know! Been so long since anyone..." He searched, found a paper, and read.
"Could be anything at all. Boredom. Adventure. Prince. Pauper. Marilyn Monroe! An ugly shrew. President! Prisoner! Same thing the rest of your life. Something new every day. Family. Cannibals. Anything! No guarantees."
Gorgeous women and piles of money danced through Corwyn's head. It was no contest. His face shining with joy, Corwyn practically ran through door number three.
The Pauper family was dirt poor. The twelve of them barely had two complete sets of clothes. Since Papa held a (pathetic) job, he wore one set of clothes. The others wore the second set as needed.
A parish church, hearing of the Pauper's predicament, collected clothing. Mountains of clothes soon arrived at the Paupers' property.
Crying tears of joy, the Paupers tried on outfit after outfit, profusely thanking their neighbors for what they'd provided.
The Paupers were found dead the next morning, naked and covered in ugly, red welts. The perplexed coroner demanded, "Who ever heard of polyester poisoning?"
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