Day 8:
And here goes, birthdays. They are only super fun when you are 8 or 98. Eight, because you actually want to say you are another year older. That much closer to ten, the double digits. After ten, you look forward to 13 because you are finally a teenager, 16 because you feel you have entered some twilight zone of adolescence that is spectacular, then 19 you can drink alcohol...legally, then 21 you can cross international borders and drink...legally, then 25 still not sure why that one is delightful, but I digress.
After that, they become more of a nuisance than any thing else. Happy birthday?? Really? What's so happy about it? Just another day. Where everyone calls, and sings, and brings by gifts (that you probably don't like but can't say so, because 'it's the thought that counts' of course you are forever grateful), centers you out while you sit in front of a cake by yourself, and take pictures of you. Why the pictures? Can't we just ate the damn cake and skip the singing and not be blinded by the flash? Then blow out your candles! Who doesn't want spit on their cake? I could go with out, just sayin'.
Then we have 98. When you probably don't know any better that you are one step closer to death. One step closer to 100. What? Who actually wants to see 100? You are sitting there, in your diapers, drooling on the cake, opening cards that you can't read, watching people sing to you as you are so deaf you actually can't hear them, wondering what the hell the cake is for and who all these people crowded around are?! And why do they all have cameras like they are about to watch a the second coming of Christ?! If you weren't blind before, you are now. Your welcome. But you are happy nonetheless, because you have no idea what's going on. The flashes from the camera will have you so much more disoriented than you already are, that you will think it is the ever talked about, never seen before, LIGHT. In all it's heavenly glory. You wait. You hope it is. You think you see the clouds parting and assume you must be on your heavenly ascent. But, No. You are not. Your eyes refocus as much as they can, and here you are. Watching people, watch you. Great.
Everything in between 8 and 98 is just this awkward mess. Maybe it's just me, maybe I'm awkward, but either way. Uncomfortable to say the least. What's the big whoop? I was born. That was a while ago. Can't we get over that now? Birthdays should stop at 25. The rest should be spent by having great food, with great friends, and plenty of drinks. No gifts, no creepy cake accompanied by spit and singing. We should change it. Consider to be only for the children, like Christmas. Why the gifts? If I like something, want something, need something, can't I just buy it and save us both the hassle? That way there is no uncomfortable pretending to like something that you deeply and truly hate. Of course you can't throw it out. What if they come over? Will they actually be insulted that you aren't using the coffee mug they bought you? You aren't wearing the ugly sweater they bought you? You aren't sporting the rancid perfume that they so cleverly picked out? The one even a skunk would turn his nose up at? Are they really going to pillage your closet to make sure you actually kept the junk they bought you? What kind of friend is that? They would feel honoured that the gift they gave you is stored away in some attic, never to be thrown out, but never to be used? Why do we need an assigned day to do this to someone? I would prefer to have someone get me a gift that reminded them of me, or something they KNEW I would love, on any day. A thinking of you, thought of you, reminded me of you, present. I would also prefer to GIVE these kinds of gifts. Meaningful, personal.
So, here it is. The big dare. Instead of telling your friends or family how much they mean to you on only on their day of birth. Tell them whenever you feel compelled to. Buy them something nice, and useful, and personal, whenever the mood strikes you. It will be much better appreciated. Hey, while you are at it, skip the gift, get them a 'thinking of you card'. Make a card. Write a letter. A thoughtful, meaningful email even. It will be much better remembered than the tire gauge you got them last year. Propose it. Try it. Just for one year. I bet everyone would get on board. And I bet that would be a better lasting tradition.
Super XO
