Somewhere along the line, that changed, and all holidays, especially my birthday became huge hassles to me. Was it the year I had the chicken pox for my birthday? Maybe. At the very least that was the start of my declined interest in celebrating, but the real defining moment where I clearly remember being totally done was when I was in high school.
The guys in our lunch group made me a card, and it was sweet, until I opened it. They drew me as a cow, and came over when they saw I was reading it just to throw pieces of their pizza at me. There was also a cowbell involved, as well as moo-ing but I'm not sure what happened to the bell. Before that moment, I thought those guys were my friends, and even afterwards it was treated as a non-issue. A little after my birthday we had a half day and all went to McD's. I got my revenge, but I'm not proud of my actions, so let's just say my response made us even, and they never gave me a present again.
For the longest time, the less attention I called to my birthday, the less horrible it seemed to be. As technology has advanced, I've even gone as far to hide my birthday from the social networks so not to be bombarded with sincere and not so sincere well wishes.
Sooooo, what's the point? I don't know. I still really enjoy doing things for other people's birthdays, and I really like the idea of a day dedicated to making someone feel special, but the idea of my birthday being treated that way makes me extremely uncomfortable. Ugh. I sound like one of two things. Either like a whiny passive aggressive girl trying to trick people into making a big deal (gag me with a spoon) or like a depressed annoying person.
Anyway, believe it or not, I'm actually planning on doing my best to not be a hag about it this year. I'm probably still hiding it from social media, but I'm making a concious decision not to go out of my way to avoid it. That's something right? ;)
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