I might have Herpes.
Okay, not really. I don’t have Herpes. At least, I don’t think I do. I only said it because I wanted to grab your attention. And boy, did I ever! You were all like, “OMG WTF” and I felt judged, and it was great.
Anyway, I do have something similar to Herpes. Like Herpes, what I have is unwelcome and typically goes unnoticed. I forget about it until it pops up and surprises me every year. It’s unpredictable, it causes pain, and it’s highly contagious. Sometimes I wish it would go away forever.
I’m talking, of course, about my birthday. And be careful. Just from reading this, you might have one too.
So why am I using an elaborate metaphor to compare the aging process to genital warts? Frankly, I think it’s a fitting comparison. I absolutely detest birthdays. I think they’re awful. And since today is my birthday, you’re not allowed to disagree with me.
I’m definitely not writing this rant because I have any desire to remind you that today is my birthday so you can congratulate me… Okay maybe a little.
But seriously, I hate birthdays. As I get older, they frighten me. I don’t want to be reminded of how old I’m getting. I don’t need to know how few years I have left on this planet.
Yet for some reason, you all want to celebrate my upcoming death. Do you hate me or something? Sure, living on Earth gets harder and harder with each passing day, but is it truly worthy of a celebration? I can understand throwing a party if someone passes the average life expectancy, but celebrating when someone turns 12? What’s so special about that? It’s expected. We were all born on a day. Congratulations for being average.
And all the birthday traditions are so bizarre. Do I really need a cake every year because I was expelled from a uterus?
Do I really need to blow out candles and make a wish? The wishes never come true, anyway. When I was a kid, I wished for telekinetic powers like Matilda from the Roald Dahl book. I thought it would be cool to move things with my mind… but alas, no psychic powers for me.
In retrospect, I’m glad the wish never came true. If it had, I would have become super lazy and gained about an extra ninety pounds.
But anyway, that’s not the only weird thing about these traditions. I mean, putting candles near a child doesn’t sound very safe. When I was a kid, I couldn’t run with scissors or hold a knife… but sure, pass me the flaming death cake.
Ugh. I truly hate thinking of myself as growing older. If I must acknowledge it every year, I’m going to put a positive spin on it. I’m going to start celebrating that I “leveled up” like in a video game.
Unfortunately, instead of getting power-ups or amazing Matilda abilities, the only “perk” I get each year is increasing lower back pain.