It’s My Birthday and I’ll be Annoyed If I Want To (not a pity thread)
When I was a child, birthdays were a wonderful thing. In my childish narcissism, they were even better than Christmas because I was the center of attention, not Baby Jesus. (yes, I know I’m going to hell) Big parties, lots of guests with presents and a mandarin orange whipped cream cake from Lutz’s with ballerina candle holders were standard.
When I was a teen, birthdays were something to be endured. You were much “too cool” for them but you still couldn’t help being a little bit excited. A bunch of balloons at your desk in homeroom and your locker door decorated to within an inch of its life were de rigueur at my high school. Instead of a party you had dinner at Charlie Trotter’s where Charlie himself would come to your table and sing “Happy Birthday” while presenting you with a dessert that was like a work of art.
When I was at University, birthdays were cool once again. Dinner parties at friends apartments were followed by dancing, flirting, drinking and getting kissed by strange men.
Whether one liked it or not, A Fuss Was Made Of You.
All that has changed. I am not planning what to wear today or where to have dinner. Rather, I am sitting in front of my computer, with a filthy kitchen staring at me, waiting for a pint of B&J’s Uncanny Cashew to thaw slightly in order to make my comfort eating more efficient.
Don’t get me wrong, I love other people’s birthdays (celebrating, planning, decorating, anything.) The idea of getting older doesn’t upset me. And not having a party or going out to dinner isn’t a big deal. I have grown past the stage of birthdays as gift grabs or as an excuse to get drunk. However, what I’d really like for my birthday is recognition. Appreciation would be nice too. Hell, a little birthday card would be like rubies to me. Failing that, for the effing dishes to be done and the kids rooms to be picked up without me being the one to do it.
Well, Mother’s Day passed with nary a peep. My birthday will be no different. I will be just as annoyed and hurt. But Og help my husband today if he asks “What’s your problem?”
Birthdays suck.
)
I was seriously tearing up reading your posts. And to answer your question:It may be passive aggressive of me but if I have to remind them to be nice to me on my birthday,what’s the point?