I've discovered as I move into old age, I'm supposed to not care about my birthday anymore. At the very least, I'm supposed to feel embarrassed about enjoying my birthday. If you're ten and you wake up saying, "Yea! It's MY birthday!", everyone thinks that's wonderful. If you're sixty-three and you vocalize that sentiment, people privately wonder if you're getting senile.
It's way, way too easy to knuckle under and pretend you don't care about presents, cake, ice cream, and birthday wishes. That's complete bushwa! News flash, Baby Boomers - 60 is NOT the new 40. I think that's why birthdays have fallen out of favor with my particularly narcissistic group. You have to be comfortable with getting older, and so many of my generation, who have worshiped their own youth way past its expiration date, don't like to be reminded of getting older by their birthday rolling around each year. It's going to happen no matter what. You'd think that would be obvious.
Somehow, it's not. I laugh when I read the 70 million boomers are projected to spend $115 billion (that's BILLION with a B) on anti-aging products. That's not just wrinkle cream; it's worse than that. It's also now about life extension through better chemistry. Most of us have by now caught a whiff of our own mortality. (OMG! I'M GOING TO DIE!!!!!!) Again, those pesky birthdays remind you of the unthinkable. (This world without ME?)
We all know that I really don't care what other people think. I always make up my own mind, have my own opinions, and am perverse enough to resist peer disapproval. I've written blogs that have incensed people to the point they froth at the mouth. Some have even screamed, "I don't want to read your damn blog again!!!!!" If those folks only knew how much they inspire me. Any writing that makes people tear out their hair must be sensational. What a compliment!
Same with the birthday thing. I'm not going to downplay my attitude. I LOVE my birthday. I want to be catered to the entire day just as if this were my seventh birthday rather than my sixty-third. I plan to eat cake and ice cream, and celebrate. Oh, and if you 'forgot' my birthday today, it's not too late - there's still 13 hours left in this fabulous, only going to happen once, day. Cheers! It's my birthday.
