I’m afraid this actually happens

Imaginary scene:

Setting: My living room, where I am folding laundry.

My guardian angel: Oh, hello there!

Angelic visitor: Hey, how’s it going? Say, I have a favor to ask you.

{My guardian angel pulls a notebook from his back pocket and starts flipping through the pages, seeming preoccupied.}

My guardian: Sure, go ahead.

Visitor angel: Well, you see, I heard Jane is going to be writing a short story for the MuseItUp weblog on December 11th…

My guardian, still paging through the book: Mmm-hmm?

Visitor: …and I heard it was going to be about an angel. And — well —

My guardian: And when she names the angel character, you want me to make sure it’s not your name she picks.

Visitor angel, perking up: Yeah! How’d you guess?

{My guardian angel shows him the notebook, filled with angel names.}

My guardian: These guys beat you to it.

Visitor: …

My guardian: And if I do that, I want you to pray for a thousand hours for the elimination of hunger and homelessness in American cities.

Visitor: Huh? A thousand?

My guardian: I think that’s a fair trade, no? Good cause, dear to her heart, applies to the themes of The Boys Upstairs…

Visitor: Yeah, but —

My guardian: I don’t have to discourage her from using your name, of course. Sequiriel.

{My head suddenly picks up, and I look enlightened.}

Vistor: Yikes! Okay! A thousand hours!

My guardian: Hey, Jane — squirrel.

{I look out the windows and utterly forget whatever thought has come into my head.}

My guardian proceeds to write the visitor angel’s name in the notebook.

Other household guardian: Wow. You drive a hard bargain.

My guardian: Don’t I? Which reminds me —

Other household guardian: I’ve already done nine hundred twenty!

Like I said. An imaginary scene. Or is it really?