I might have Herpes.

Okay, not really. I don’t have Herpes. At least, I don’t think I do. I only said that to get your attention. And boy, did I ever! You were all like “OMG WHAT THE HELL AM I READING?” I felt judged, and it was fantastic.

Anyway, I do have something similar to Herpes. Like Herpes, what I have is unwelcome and typically goes unnoticed. I usually forget about it until it pops up and surprises me each year. It’s unpredictable, it causes pain, and it’s highly contagious. Sometimes I wish it would just 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? Well, frankly, I think it’s a fitting comparison. I absolutely detest birthdays. And since today is my birthday, it’s only polite that you agree with me.

Seriously. I hate them. As I get older, they terrify 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 this planet. Why does everyone want to celebrate my impending death? Do you all hate me that much?

Birthdays aren’t a big deal. Sure, surviving my nut-job family and coworkers gets harder with each passing day, but is it truly worthy of a present?

I get throwing a party for people who pass the average life expectancy, but why are we celebrating when somebody turns 12? What’s so special about that? It’s expected. We were all born on a day. Congratulations on being average.

And all of these birthday traditions are 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 always 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 kind of glad that wish never came true. If it had, I’d be super lazy. At a minimum, I’d be two hundred pounds heavier and maybe not even alive to “celebrate” this day.

But I digress. The concept of sticking candles in a dessert is bizarre and unsettling. 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, yeah sure, pass me the flaming death cake.

Ugh. I truly hate that I’m getting older. But if I must acknowledge it every year, I need to find a better way to talk about it. Maybe I can make it fun and exciting? Yeah, that’s it. From now on, I’ll start saying that I “leveled up” like in a video game.

But instead of getting power-ups or amazing Matilda-like abilities, the only perk I get each year is increasing lower back pain.