I hate my birthday.
I truly do.
No, I don't care about the reminder that I'm getting older and closer to the grave.
That doesn't bother me a bit.
Keeling over when I've tortured my family as much as I possibly can will probably be the only vacation I ever get at this rate.
I don't like getting gifts.
I loathe surprises.
And I just don't want people wasting their money on me.
Call and wish me a happy birthday and then leave me alone with a good drink and a good book and I'm a happy camper.
I have sat through birthday parties, gnawing on my cheeks until they bled and I couldn't take any more.
You wanna celebrate that day? Give something to the woman who gave me life and who, so far, hasn't ended it eiether.
The Man and I fight about it every year. My mom and I, who don't fight, intead we have "discussions", discuss it every year.
I'm a grown woman and if I want to stomp my feet and say no to my birthday, I have that right.
I'm sure it's somewhere in the Constitution.
Or some religious tome, buried deep ina desert somewhere.
End result is simple.
"Nana, nana, boo, boo! I don't wanna and you can't make me."
So there.
I think this has been a very adult and mature discourse on the subject and should end all future discusses to wit.
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