Barring some unforeseen terrible happenstance, tomorrow will be my birthday. This will be my 26th one of these. I’ve been around the block, I know how this goes. To save myself time tomorrow, I would like to respond to all of the birthday wishes now.
To all of those who are going to ask “So… how does it feel to be 26?”, the answer is the exact same as it does to be 25. Believe it or not, not a lot changed instantly the day my birthday hit. Really, the only birthday you can say feels way different is the actual day you were born. Suddenly you are in a world void of amniotic fluid. If newborn babies could talk, they would probably say, “What was all that pushing about? Can I go back in now?”
To anyone who says “Happy birthday,” thanks for the thought I guess. It’s nice to know that you want me to have one day out of the year that is happy. That’s almost 0.3% of my year being filled with joy. I guess it would be weird, though, if people just walked up to me the other 364 and said “Happy day.” There is no doubt in my mind that I would feel very uncomfortable.
To everyone who thinks they are going to sing me a song, please don’t. Unless that song is a brand new birthday composition set to the tune of “Mr. Tambourine Man,” I have heard it. In fact, I have had this song directed at me at least 25 times already and, seeing as how three of the four lines of the song are THE EXACT SAME THING, I think I’ve gotten the message.
If someone really wanted to throw me, they would change a line in the song to something unrelated: “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, My socks are a cotton polyester blend, happy birthday to you.” I would spend the rest of my birthday thinking about your socks and wondering how well they hold up.
To the people who will tack on “And many mooooooooooore…” to the end of that Happy Birthday song, just know I hate you. For every second you hold out “moooooooooore,” my hate grows exponentially. Once again, though, you could just change it and I would have no complaints: “Good job not dyiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!”
To anyone who has bought me a present, it is exactly what I wanted. It is perfect. It fits perfect. You did a great job. Also, that card you picked out was very funny and/or touching. I laughed/cried. To those whose present was a gift card, good call. There’s nothing that says “Happy Birthday” like a $10 credit to Old Navy.
To anyone who will write on my Facebook wall, just know I probably will not see it for at least a week as I tend to forget Facebook exists. This is not a personal slight against you. I just have better things to do online. By that, I mean reading the Wikipedia page about whatever happens to be on TV
Inevitably, someone will say something about aging. “You’re getting old,” they’ll say. Of course, this is true. I am. In fact, so is everyone. We are all simultaneously getting old. That’s how time works. Imagine how weird it would be if someone wasn’t getting old. To these people, I say, “No, I’m not. I’m immortal! Long after you are gone and buried, I will still be here!” There is no good response to that, so that will squash that conversation almost immediately.
Last but not least, I know that everyone I come across will ask me if I’m doing something “exciting” for my birthday. This depends on your definition of exciting. If you are thinking of exciting like Die Hard, then probably not, though I will never rule it out. You never know when you’re going to be forced into a gun fight with East German terrorists.
Nothing ruins a birthday quicker than East German terrorists.
- The Hunt for a New, Copyright-Free Happy Birthday Song (blogs.smithsonianmag.com)