Everyone’s a special, though not everyone is special. Not yet anyway. To be a special, all you need are three little sprigs in your hair, worn with Caesarian confidence. Some prefer biting a juicy Golden Delicious, a porcine thrill before the fires start-a-blazing. Replace your dandruff with genuine himalyan sea salt and you’re on your way. Swap body oil for olive oil and newcomers will start to get the picture.
But being special is different. It involves decades of therapy, natural talent, financial stability, high-powered medication and dumb luck. You need loving parents who encourage you all the time, believe in your ability despite what any teachers say. You should wear clothes that stand out like a pristine snorkel mask and a feathered fedora. You can’t be special without being noticed. You want to ignore rules that others must follow. You want to park in loading zones and change lanes without a signal. You’re special.
While being a special involves little more than standing over an oversized plate and saying “bon appetit” in your best French accent.
But specials are special. They only come around once a week or so, favored by those tired of the same options crowding a familiar menu. There’s nothing special to it.
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