While out doing errands today, I was listening to A Prairie Home Companion on KUOW, my local NPR station, when Garrison Keillor launched into his news from Lake Wobegon. He was talking about how people will like things despite common sense — like the love of the desert southwest in the summer even though you need oven mitts to open your car door. It made me think about how people will be contrary if it makes them seem special compared to others. They will like what everyone hates, hate what everyone loves.

This must be how Punk Rock and goth fashion took off: push back against the norm. It’s also probably why people name their children after fruits and vegetables (“Edemame, you get down off that counter right this second!”) or give regular names odd spellings (Chone Figgins‘ first name does not rhyme with drone; it’s SHAWN, but spelled in an interesting manner).

People want to be special. They want to stand out in a crowd. I get that. I grew up wanting that, too. It’s a normal feeling, particularly for children. My generation understood the feeling so well that we seem determined to make sure our children are convinced of their uniqueness. Why that’s bad is fodder for another blog.

My purpose here is to warn against being less than specific in your prayers to the gods about the kind of special and unique you want in your life, because I’m  proof that they listen to what you say and they have a perverse sense of humor. If you were to look up to the evening sky and wish on the first star of the night that you live in joy for eternity, you may well end up with a life sentence in a prison in some town named Joy in the middle of nowhere. If you say to the executive director of the Arthritis Foundation that if you have to have an autoimmune disease, rheumatoid arthritis seems like the best one out there, given the research and money going into new treatments, guess what will happen in the next couple years? (Yes. I really said that. Yes, within 18 months, I had a diagnosis of RA.)

I have a very unique life. I have RA. I have an autistic son. My husband had a sex change operation. I’m still married to her. I’m left-handed. I have red hair. Granted, the last isn’t natural, but still. I am making myself more unique than I already am.

Now, when I say I want to be special, I’m very specific. Sometimes I’m use irony. “I’d hate to date Viggo Mortenson,” I say up to the heavens. “That would suck!” So far, that’s working. I’ll try the positive approach, too. But I won’t ask to be special, or famous without adding specifics, lest they offer infamous rather than famous, or special needs, rather than special. I already have special needs down, thank you. I recommend you do as well, before you say something like, “I’ll never date a married man!” I did that one once, too.

The gods think they’re hysterical.

Addendum June 8, 2014: I think they hear our thoughts: I was thinking today that my party plans were going really well. So they broke my refrigerator.