Post-Birthday Wrap-Up

"What's so damned troublesome about not having died?"
-Admiral Leonard McCoy

Over the last decade, I have really tried to rehabilitate my attitude about my birthday. About 8 years ago, the women I was seeing at the time were planning a gathering for my birthday, and I was grousing incessantly about it.

"What is the big fucking deal? It's just another day - another day closer to the grave! I don't need to be reminded that I'm aging; my fucking joints do that every morning when I get out of bed! I certainly don't need to feed my friends punch and pie to celebrate my sagging body and thinning hair. What, are we children? Do we really need to put on those silly fucking hats and sing that wretched song every year? Couldn't I just downgrade? Maybe celebrate only the decades? Just one big party on my 40th would be fine by me, and fucking cheaper, too!"

I went on in this vein for the better part of a Saturday afternoon. They both tried to be patient with me, but as many of you know, I can really drive a point into the ground. One of them finally snapped and jumped me.

"Contrary to popular belief, your birthday is NOT about you!" She screamed this at me in the car as we were driving back from shopping for party supplies. "It's about the people who love you. The least you could do is quit being a whiny little bitch long enough for them to celebrate it!"

This was particularly shocking coming from her, as she was a very nurturing and motherly personality - she was the Wendy to our pack of Lost Boys, and she rarely ever raised her voice. She was also a tiny, elfin creature, standing all of 5 feet tall and weighing about 90 pounds soaking wet, so I imagine it was pretty comical to see me sulking in the driver's seat as she berated me.

I wish I could say I turned over a new leaf that day, but in truth it took several more years for me to stop being a complete jackass about my birthday. I am still somewhat growly about it, but now I do appreciate that it's not solely about me.

I had wanted to do something more party-like, but once the month of March began to fill up with reports and deadlines as well as Rachel's wedding, I became completely at peace with letting my date of birth pass quietly. I got some very well-considered gifts, and had a nice dinner at Ruby Slippers with a small group of friends. My family is late with cards and gifts as usual, but I imagine Mom's card will contain money, so I'm ok with it being late...

In fact, I'm ok with it all. All of it - including my joints aching and my hair thinning and the old jokes from friends and coworkers, and the fattening food, and the mushy cards and the sappy song and the reminder of my inevitable death - all of it is fine by me this year.

Except the hats - those still suck.