Your Birthday Isn’t Special And Neither Are You
Last Friday was my birthday, and every year it rolls around, and every year I hate it more. I just don’t like my birthday. I don’t like the attention, and I’m 28 so getting older hasn’t been fun for years now.
This had me thinking... About the people on the other end of the spectrum. Not the normal people who celebrate their birthday for a day or maybe for a weekend, no I’m talking about the other people, the one or two weirdos in every friend group who don’t just celebrate for a day or two, no, they have to celebrate for an entire week. You know any of these clowns? I think they tend to be of the female variety but that’s just my personal experience. They come in all shapes and sizes, all hair colors, styles, walks of life, and they live in every town in the world. They’re all so different, yet all the same, because they all have one thing in common, one MAJOR, thing in common. And that’s the need for unwavering, undying, and undivided attention. These birthday bitches mope around for fifty one weeks a year, obsessed with the idea that once again, come birthday week, they can demand the world from anyone and everyone “lucky” enough to cross their path. For fifty one weeks a year, these pathetic scavengers have to scour every nook and cranny of life for every last crumb of attention they can find, but come birthday week… Those crumbs become one enormous, ego fattening, birthday cunt cake.
These fools need everything to be absolutely perfect for the entirety of their week, and God forbid a single day doesn’t go exactly as planned. You know what I’m talking about. The week consists of constant announcements and reminders that it’s their special time. There are birthday brunches, birthday lunches, birthday dinners, birthday parties, birthday trips, and birthday cake. There are birthday songs, birthday posts on Facebook, birthday posts on Instagram, birthday posts on Twitter, birthday posts on Snapchat, birthday texts, birthday calls, birthday balloons, birthday sashes, birthday presents… You get the point.
And I mean seriously, what’s up with those gold birthday balloons and the stupid sashes? Why don’t you use those to celebrate when you actually accomplish something? Because I’m sorry but living for another year isn’t an accomplishment, it just means you annoyed everyone around you for another 365 days. Congratulations.
“IT’S MY BIIIIIRRRRRRTTTTTTHHHHHDDDDDDAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
We know, Becky. We just don’t care.
P.S. No mean comments. It was my birthday last week.