A bunch of my friends have recently had birthdays all in a row (today it is my friend Kaman’s birthday), and mine is quickly approaching (April 8th– take note! I will be 22~). I haven’t had a birthday party since I was 16 or 17, but I’ve still had cake, and I’ve still had the Happy Birthday song sung to me.

I don’t know about you guys, having Happy Birthday sung to you sort of awkwardly and off key by your friends can be kinda weird. I mean, you can look intently at your cake while you blush, or you can do what I do… a chair dance accompanied by some vague hand movements resembling that of an orchestra conductor. I feel as if excluding me from the actual performance is a bit rude, so I try to join in. I can’t sing Happy Birthday to myself, but I can provide excellent choreographed chair movement art and keep everyone on the same time with my conducting. Everyone’s looking at me anyway, I’m sure they expect me to do something.

I also have this theory about birthdays, and it is this: birthdays aren’t about you. Get real, like you did anything to be born. I know that I was born way too early, and then I promptly tried to die. That was nice of me to put my parents through that, right? So, yeah, your birthday is more about your parents, mainly your mom. I mean, she carried you around for all those months and then gave birth to you, and where’s her cake? I’m pretty sure cake isn’t traditionally served on Mother’s Day, at least I’ve never done it.

I mean, I’ll still take presents on my birthday, but still.