Signs You’re Having An Adult Birthday!

 

When we were growing up our birthdays were like national holidays. My mother made them that way. Although I can’t really remember the ones from my really early days there are plenty of pictures to show that the “monster” (or whatever theme that year) was carried out from the invitations to the paper table cloths to the matching paper hats (and everything in between). So as I grew older I was bound to become more and more disillusioned with birthdays because if there wasn’t going to be someone making balloon animals, birthdays seemed to just pale in comparison to what I had been taught about birthday celebrations growing up. And as if I needed anymore confirmation of that, last week my mother said, “I know you’re birthday isn’t for a week but when you come on this Sunday for dinner we’ll celebrate it then so that it’s easier for everyone, okay?” So this year when I arose for my birthday though I didn’t have the same excitement of wondering whether or not I would be getting that bike with the banana seat that was all green and called “The Dill Pickle” (printed on the side of the bike), it was an email that began my day showing me the signs you’re having an adult birthday! – Don’t Get Me Started!

The first email I saw when I turned on my phone was a computer generated one from my insurance agent. I don’t know if you need to have any other sign than this that you’re not having a cake and some pin the tail on the donkey activity for your “special” day. The only thing better would have been one from my proctologist. From there it was a series of birthday wishes emails all electronically generated from websites I’d ordered from (that required you to put in your birthday) or from what I call the “anti-social social networking sites.” Everyone whom I ever “friended” it seemed had clicked the button to post a birthday greeting on my “wall.” Some were clever but most were simplistic in their greeting, “Happy Birthday.”

I got wished an “early” happy birthday this week when I had to go in and give blood for my yearly physical. The older Asian man who was taking my blood wished me a happy birthday as he smacked my arm repeatedly trying to find a vein like some torture from a 1950’s mob movie or an amateur junkie shooting up heroin for the first time as my arm went numb and I thought I was having a heart attack. He was giggling the whole time as apparently the woman at the front desk had made me two years younger on the form and while I was just worried that it would somehow impact my results (I could hear my doctor saying, “I don’t understand, the form says you’re 43 but you have the urine of a 45 year old.”) I just rolled my eyes and watched him like a hawk, making sure that he was wearing a new set of rubber gloves and that the needles and tubes had all come from some hermetically sealed packaging so as to not be infected with whatever everyone else had in the lobby of the place (all of whom appeared to me full of infectious stuff that I wouldn’t be able to pronounce but as a hypochondriac I would have had in a minute complete with every symptom I could find that might fit for whatever it was I had made up in my mind I had contracted from the split vinyl chair I was sitting on in the waiting room next to these diseased people).

There was no tray of cupcakes to take into my class this morning. True, I haven’t been in class in over twenty years but this is definitely a sign you’re having an adult birthday. I don’t even know if they let parents bring in cupcakes anymore. Which leads me to another thing that let me know I was having an adult birthday, I found myself thinking of the birthdays from my childhood school days when kids would bring in what seemed like a baking sheet twice their size filled with cupcakes for their classmates. I started feeling sorry for the kids of today who live in a world where this seems as though this couldn’t be possible. Why? Because I’m sure that Ashley has an allergy to frosting so you can’t bring them in or D’Onfre is on a macrobiotic diet and since we don’t want him to feel bad about himself we couldn’t possibly let the other kids enjoy something like a cupcake while he didn’t and his self-esteem suffered. Is it just my age saying this or is it true that the kids seemed to have less medication and allergy problems back in our day? Thinking these thoughts definitely lets you know you’re having an adult birthday.

I’ve said it previously and I’ll say it again, while gifts are nice at this age, honestly, what do I really need to survive that I haven’t all ready over extended myself to buy for myself at this point? No, the only real gift I want is the gift of metabolism. If someone could find a way to get me that I’d be back in the birthday party business in a second. With each box I would open I would “ooh” and “ahhh” over how much metabolism was in the brightly paper covered box with the ribbons. “Oh my God, the metabolism of a 16 year old, that must have cost a fortune. You shouldn’t have but I’m glad you did!” I would say with a smile and an appreciative wink to the gift giver.  

Look, I am now officially 45 and while I think it’s a load of crap when people say, “You’re only as old as your feel” or “Forty-five is the new twenty-five” the point of the matter is that I’ve been blessed with a face that has always looked younger than my age so until my face really falls and I need a crane, surgery and an Ace bandage to look human and go out of the house, I’m not all that worried about growing older. As I embrace my forty-fifth year of life on the planet I’m sort of glad that I won’t have to act as though I absolutely love that sock monkey someone gave me (for some reason I’ve always despised those things) while immediately doing inventory in my head of my re-gift pile and who is getting this stupid gift. I’m glad that I won’t have the pressure of getting all the candles on the cake blown out in one breath without spitting all over the cake. I’m fine with my age, how I look and how I feel so good for me for being comfortable with my balding and bulging gut! I’m fine with all of it but just do me a favor people, the only thing I really want for my birthday is to not get any of those asinine cards (e-cards included) with sayings like, “Over the hill” or “Funny, you don’t look old enough to have grown up with dinosaurs as your neighbors.” And perhaps that’s the biggest sign of all that I’m having an adult birthday, I no longer feel the need to act as if I’m delighted by people who give me stupid shit! Signs you’re having an adult birthday! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Read More Scott @ www.somelikeitscott.com

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jwmu311 7 years ago from Right behind you.

Ha! The insurance agency birthday wish. I hate that shit. I'm turning 30 next year. Not looking forward to that birthday. But I am excited about receiving a wish from my dental office.

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