Bettie’s Birthday Week

Remember when we were younger and birthdays were celebrated in giant blocks of time? “It’s my birthday month, let’s get crazy!” The year you turn 21, is literally your birthday year, when every evening out is a celebration of your not-so-recent legal status. When you’re turning 28, however, celebrating a birthday even on the actual day is kind of a chore.

Like this, only chunkier

Like this, only chunkier

 There’s an obligation to go out because my birthday falls on a Friday this year and if I don’t go out I’ll just spend the evening fighting my cats for the last of the salted caramel gelato and crying sad birthday tears all over my laptop and the latest episode of “Freaky Eaters”.  Because it’s an obligation, though, I feel like going out and having all of these birthday expectations might result in a sadder night than the combination of Netflix and fat pants.

 I think the issue is more that friends and family get bored with caring about these never-ending birthdays and then the responsibility to make it fun lies solely on the person who is turning that year older.  I’m not complaining, mind you. I’m just as bored with your incessant birthdays as you are with mine. I’ll go have a drink near you on your special day, and I expect the same. Nothing more, nothing less. Just come sit near me and we’ll call it good. It is a Friday night, after all. It is your responsibility to tell strangers about my birthday status, of course, so that we can enjoy free drinks at their expense. And by we I mean me. But at least you didn’t have to get me a present.  

So, bloggers, there you have it. It’s my birthday on Friday and I don’t wanna! But, because I’m obligated by my own neurosis to go out, I will. And you should too. And, I mean…if you want to make a big deal out of it, I guess I wouldn’t totally hate it.


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