One week until…

Well, I guess technically it’s less than one week. But still it feels like it’ll be longer than one week because the Monday-Friday time span always moves a lot slower than the Friday-Monday time span. And it’s not just because there are fewer days in the latter. It’s because time actually moves slower when we’re bored. It’s a proven fact.

That last part was a lie.

But anyway, my birthday is this Saturday. I’ll be turning the ripe old age of 23. This is the time of year that I use to rub in Sean’s face the fact that I’m a lot older and more mature than he is. Eleven days so. His birthday is May 11.

Anyway let me know if you want my address so you can send me lavish gifts and hundreds of dollars in funny birthday cards. Just kidding.

That’s the point though. Remember when it took forever to finally be your birthday? And your mom would ask you what kind of party you wanted and should it be a sleepover and you can only have 10 people over. And then you’d agonize about which 10 of your friends to invite because, heaven knows, you had millions. Except for in my case, I’d agonize over the fact that I only had 9 friends and so I’d act like I invited someone else from some place where my friends didn’t know (like soccer or summer camp) and say that they just couldn’t make it.

And you’d spend time picking out decorations (streamers and balloons and paper plates, oh my!), and helping decorate the whole house. And mom would either bake or buy a cake depending on whether she felt like being lazy or not spending any extra money.

As a side note, considering how many birthdays I had and how many birthday parties I went to, you think I would have figured out earlier in my life how much I didn’t like cake. But when you’re young and there’s a sugary treat involved you don’t say no. Except nowadays kids do because their parents instill in them this superiority in denying the food of the masses. “Oh, I can’t eat cake. I can only eat gluten-free.” My mom would have given that kid a glass of water. “Have fun then, kiddo.”

Then your friends would come over and bring large packages wrapped up in whatever show/characters/movie/video game was popular. You knew a present was going to be good when the parents spent the extra money on popular wrapping paper as opposed to generic “Happy Birthday” paper. My Little Pony paper? Victory!

Then you’d eat cake and open presents and your mom would act more interested than you were in the presents that sucked. And she would remind you ever three seconds to say thank you. It was like an acceptance and denial program. “Easy Bake Oven! Awesome! We can still be friends. Coloring set? What am I three? You’ve been moved down the list, Susie. You’re on notice for next year!”

Then mom would send you all outside to run the sugar out of your systems and hope that you don’t destroy her house. All it took was one kid breaking one thing and the party was over.

Then kids’ parents would come pick them up, and you’d play with all your coolest toys until it was time for dinner, and you’d rather have cake for dinner anyway.

But when you get older, birthdays aren’t like that anymore. Apparently, your last fun birthday is your 21st where you go get schmammered and vomit crap-tons of money into the toilet the next day. And all you remember is the horrific hangover that was the result.

That’s doesn’t really sound like fun to me.

I don’t remember how I spent my 21st birthday, but it wasn’t because I was drunk. I didn’t drink, and I still don’t. That stuff is disgusting, y’all.

However, I do recognize that as people get older birthdays just become a reminder of how old they are. And then they get all negative about it. “I’m 29 for the fourth year.” Just say you’re thirty-something and move on.

Birthdays should always be fun. And you’re never too old for a party, I say! I know I won’t have a birthday on Saturday that resembles what my mom worked so hard to put together when I was younger, but I’m not going to be mad at time for moving on and myself for being one year older.

I’m still going to have fun. And not eat cake. Ice cream for the win.


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