Luck
Mary could feel her competitive spirit overcoming all sense, riled that anybody would dare to disagree with her. She knew best, of course, and to say otherwise was almost blasphemy. Still, if anybody had the nerve to disagree, it was Bert.
"I'm jus' sayin', Mary," he chortled, unbothered by her rising temper. "You're an extremely lucky woman, that's all. You can't argue with tha'."
"Oh, I can't, can't I?" Her hands were coming to rest on her hips. "I will prove you wrong, Mr Alfred, if it's the last thing I do. I shall… shall…"
Bert lent a helping hand. "You can play all the games at the fair and if you lose even one, I'll let you win this argument. If you win, I prove tha' I was right this whole time."
"Well, that should be easy," she scoffed. "I am never wrong."
"And you have t' try your 'ardest, no matter wha'," he added for good measure.
She sniffed sharply, half in self-importance, half threateningly. "Don't I always?'
Yet, after managing to throw all of the balls into the bucket, hooking several ducks onto the pole, knocking three shelves worth of tins onto the ground, landing ten hoops onto the glass bottles, and gaining the highest score on darts, Mary had to concede that perhaps she had been wrong. Not that she would admit as such.
Bert was carrying the teddy bear, the rubber duck, and the handcrafted bracelet that she had won at various stalls. His grin only made her more frustrated.
"How abou' a go on the helter skelter then?" he asked.
"That's got nothing to do with luck."
"Well, no, but I though' it would be funny to see you have a go on one."
The look she gave him was answer enough to what she thought of that.