May your Sperrys give you blisters, may your son be uninterested in inheriting your Patek Phillipe.
May your housekeeper be an American citizen; may she have an up-to-date OSHA regulations handbook in her purse at all times.
May you forget to update your summer residence information in time to make it into the Social Register’s Dilatory Domiciles this year.
May you develop carpal tunnel your first year of Princeton crew; may you be invited only to the dinner clubs founded after 1950.
May your summer internship be affected by your Gentleman’s C.
May your first divorce remove you from the rolls of the St. Cecilia’s Society; may your ex-wife be named next year’s Social Chair.
May the board vote no.
May your middle name be misspelled when your country retreat is featured in Architectural Digest.
May your second wedding be absent from the Marriages section of the Sunday Times; may your first wife’s remarriage receive two fat columns and a 400×500.
May your invitation to the Bohemian Club be lost in the mail; may you be forced to visit your wife’s relatives in Pasadena this year.
May the bridge named after your great-grandfather collapse, killing fourteen.
May all of your private jets disappear in the fog over Martha’s Vineyard.
May your daughter remain waitlisted even after your generous donation to Harvard.
May your mistress and your wife buy the same model of yacht, so that you can never be sure if you’re keeping the bills separate.
May your stroke never improve, may your Tom Collins always be watered down at the nineteenth hole, may the links be always affected by ongoing club construction.
May your son’s fraternity be visited by scandal and defeats in both polo and lacrosse.
May all your employees demand comprehensive health insurance; may the hospital wing named after your father fail to develop any interesting cures this year.
May your ex-husband marry Wendi Deng and change the terms of your children’s trusts in her favor.
May something terrible happen to The Markets.
May your Fraxel session leave you reddened for an extra three days; may all of your tennis bracelets have to get resized.
May all of your sons become DJs, may all of your daughters design handbags.
Mallory is an Editor of The Toast.