May your dog shake off the adorable bandanas you make him wear as soon as you get them on.
May your daughter major in dramaturgy, your son in semiotics.
You should go through three or four SSRIs before finding one that doesn't give you dry mouth.
The tangled mess of cables behind your computer desk should get stuck in the vacuum.
Your self esteem should be too low for you to ever participate in a SlutWalk.
May your breath sometimes smell like a McRib even when you haven't eaten one.
May you briefly date one of those guys whose idea of a romantic gesture is to talk you into watching every Woody Allen movie sequentially.
May the stalls in your office bathroom leave an uncomfortably large gap between the side panel and the door.
Your turkey sandwiches should be always a little dry.
You should spend all this money on a Halloween costume and be complimented on it just one time.
May you mispronounce "dialectic" when speaking in public.
May you host a party where your MP3 player gets stuck in a loop and only plays Archie Bell and the Drells' "Tighten Up" over and over.
May the twinges of shame you feel at making a drunken borderline-flirtatious remark to your wife's sister go on an unreasonably long time.
Every link you click should turn out to be a slideshow.
Your therapist should tell you "that sounds more like a personality flaw than a genuine phobia."
May you have a regrettable hairstyle from the ages of 23 to 25 inclusive.
May the audio on all the YouTube videos you watch be slightly out of sync.
Your general anaesthesia should momentarily fail halfway through a colonoscopy.
May your favorite hair metal ballad be turned into elevator music.
You should be confronted with unpleasant war stories in the newspaper when you just wanted to check the movie times.
You should considerately buy the quiet-modelled gasoline-powered generator in anticipation of the next blackout, only to find your neighbors were not so considerate when buying theirs.
At your next dinner party, you should mix up the nut cups with the finger bowls.
May your homosexual son suffer an ineffectual bully for several weeks in the ninth grade.
May your cosmetic surgery be only a modest improvement on your current appearance.
May you invest in an inferior humidor and be always smoking dry cigars.
You should be told "you look like sisters" when standing next to your daughter, and for a few hours walk around feeling great, except then find your daughter crying in her room, and suspect it's because of the comparison.