What’s so special about a birthday, let alone this alleged “birthday week” trend? It’s not like we remember Day 1 of our lives. Our parents do. Maybe. If they weren’t blacking out while releasing us into world or at the bar across the street watching U of M lose to Florida State.
And when you’re a little kid, celebrating your birthday is clearly mostly for your parents. So they can dress you up in fluffy skirts or mini-Dockers and rent a pony to walk around a park. Don’t get me wrong, seeing those pictures now is hilarious, but back then I’m pretty sure we just wanted to eat ice cream in front of cartoons, learn how to poop like civilized adults and go to bed with our <insert name of favorite stuffed animal>
As we get older, our parents pass the responsibility of our birthdays on to us. And that, my friends, is bullshit! No, I don’t want mom and dad to plan birthdays for me for the rest of my life, but why celebrate the day at all?
It’s not an important day like New Year’s when we make promises to ourselves that we actually keep the entire year without once slipping by being the person we didn’t want to be anymore. Right? New Year’s has a distinct purpose that we all legally and morally abide by without a shadow of a doubt, no matter how unrealistic our resolutions are.
So why is celebrating a birthday important once we’re too old for our parents to dress us?
After all, kid birthdays are for parents and ponies. Adult birthdays are just for drinking and maybe ponies depending on what season it is. I hereby officially reduce “birthday week” to “birthday” to “drinking with friends and family day.” Because that’s what it is. Maybe I’ll bring some cake. I’ll definitely give a lot of hugs. Hell, I’ll probably make a birthday resolution to go on an alcohol diet starting the day after my birthday. Meaning exempting it, not use it as my only source of calories. Actually let’s keep that one TBD. And it’ll probably end with a speech about how much I’m grateful for the last year of my life and how excited I am for what’s to be in the years to come.
Wait a minute… That sounds almost… pro-birthday. Like someone who… likes birthdays. Whatever. It’s hope in writing. I’m on the fence. But did I mention how fucking pointless New Year’s is?