we are not special snowflakes

After the Sober Husband airily and maddeningly announced, in a complete turnaround, that we shouldn't order a new range but instead buy some secondhand piece of crap off Craigslist or eBay, a certain chill descended over the land. Few words were spoken. Couches were slept upon, in an oddly festive way (Lola, seeing her silent, crabby mother bed down on a couch, was thrilled and claimed the other couch, and it was a little living room slumber party).

Then the Sober Husband said contritely that he had looked on Craigslist and eBay and of course there were no 44 inch, dual-fuel, double oven ranges and that he was ready to just order one and be done with it. His cold, mean wife informed him that he should take his time, spend more time looking, but he demurred politely. He ordered an Aga Legacy, which must be shipped from Europe and will arrive in two months. (By then, we'll have been without a stove for going on five months).

In the end, the choice of the Aga was automatic. It was the winelist paradigm. If the stoves were alcoholic beverages, they'd appear on a menu something like this:

LaCanche - the grapes will be lovingly gathered when they have reached optimal ripeness, crushed, then bottled with a label of your personal design. Price upon request.

LaCornue Cornufe - French, magnificent, striking, it's like getting a really great Chateau Margaux. $$$$

Aga Legacy - Toss the winelist aside and order a manhattan, because that's what the Rat Pack drank, dammit. Retro sensibility paired with impressive function (you'll be drunk fast and look cool getting there). $$$

Heartland Paragon - the (formerly) Canadian option. It's the two buck Chuck of dual fuel, double oven ranges. $$

Virtually everyone (except our friend Bob S., a Scottish maverick) orders the next-to-the-cheapest wine off the list whenever they are dining out. When I reached legal drinking age, it didn't take me long to develop that strategy, and I was shamed when as a middle-aged person, I read somewhere that everyone does that all the time. It's so predictable that savvy restaurant owners always stick whatever they want to unload in that price point on the menu. Before we found the Heartland Paragon, we were agonizing over whether to get the Aga or the LaCornue, but once we found the cheapest alternative, the decision was clear in our predictable, typical brains. It was the Aga, the next-to-the-cheapest on the list.

When I was young and headstrong, I fancied myself special, unique, with my own inimitable way of looking at the world. As I aged, I came to realize how utterly predictable and ordinary I truly am. As Chuck Palahniuk has told us all, we are not special snowflakes, we are not unique and beautiful. We're walking meat.