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 get your attention. And boy, did I ever! You were all like, “OMG WTF AM I READING” 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 just 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.
But seriously, I hate them. As I get older, they frighten me. I don’t want to be reminded that my days are numbered. I don’t need to know how few years I have left on the planet. Yet for some reason, you all want to celebrate my upcoming death. Do you hate me that much?
Birthdays aren’t a big deal. 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? It’s not like the wishes ever come true. 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 around with my mind… but alas, no psychic powers for me.
In retrospect, I’m glad the wish never came true. If it had, I’d be super lazy. I’d be about two hundred pounds heavier and not alive to “celebrate” this day.
But I digress. The concept of sticking candles in a dessert is bizarre and unsettling. I mean, who was the sick asshole that decided to celebrate life with a safety hazard?. 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 that I’m getting older. If I must acknowledge it every year, I should at least put a positive spin on it. I’ll start making it fun and exciting. From now on, I’ll start saying that I “leveled up” like in a video game.
Unfortunately, instead of getting power-ups or amazing Matilda-like abilities, the only “perk” I get each year is increasing lower back pain.