It’s My Birthday, and I’ll Cry if I Want To

Aaah birthday… we meet again.

Hey birthday, after I’m done beating up this copy machine, you’re next!

Birth·day noun (ˈbərth-ˌdā)—definition: an event to commemorate not doing anything particularly noteworthy in the past 12 months since the last birthday, and now being one step closer to death.

 

Or something like that.

In my family, as in many others, birthday tradition dictated that the birthday boy or girl got to have the cake of their choice and make a birthday wish while blowing out a candle. My parents always had an overabundant supply of cake mix and candles on hand for birthdays, including those annoying trick candles that continued to relight themselves after being blown out.

I really hated those stupid candles. Even with my face right next to the cake, forcing my breath to a maximum velocity, I could never trump those things. My family and friends also tried to help me blow them out to no avail. As far as I was concerned, blowing out trick birthday candles could have qualified as an Olympic sport.

We ended up having to throw the candles in a cup of water to keep them from relighting, and people didn’t even want to eat the cake anymore since the frosting was undoubtedly covered in a smorgasbord of spit and other projectiles.

I suppose it could have been worse. I could have gotten an Eggo waffle with a votive candle or a cigarette in it for my birthday instead, accompanied by a disappointing last minute gift such as a can of Campbell’s Soup wrapped in newspaper.

Aaaw, how thoughtful! You shouldn’t have!

 

In retrospect, I’ve been very fortunate and thankful that my family made such a big deal out of birthdays.

The other night, as my birthday evening was winding down, I realized that I had yet to blow out a candle and eat cake. In anticipation of my birthday grand finale and years of tradition, I asked the hubby “Ooo, what kind of cake did you get me?!”

He looked at me with a bewildered, deer in the headlights kind of look and replied: “Yeeah. I kinda forgot the cake this time, but there’s a half a tomato in the fridge.”

I threw my hands up in the air, waved them dramatically, and exclaimed: “Wha- what?! Are you for real?! You’re putting my candle in a week-old Roma tomato?!”

And so the night went cakeless.

Don’t worry. Although he forgot the cake, the hubby did present me with a candle in a bowl of Ben & Jerry’s along with concert tickets to see Lady Antebellum, Thompson Square and Darius Rucker, thereby redeeming himself and saving all of us from having to split a moldy tomato.

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17 Comments

Filed under Chronicles of Marriage

17 responses to “It’s My Birthday, and I’ll Cry if I Want To

  1. Happy Birthday! Enjoy the concert but you have to find some cake.

  2. Happy birthday. A Lady Antebellum concert? Your husband rocks!

    • Thanks Addie! Yes, he really does, but let’s not tell him… his ego is big enough as it is, ha ha. 😉 I was surprised he got me those concert tickets, actually! He doesn’t like Lady Antebellum or Thompson Square, so he’ll probably be suffering through most of it. He’s more of a Garth Brooks and Tim McGraw kind of fan.

  3. foroneplease

    hope you had a super time watching Lady A! Belated wishes 🙂

  4. I’ve told my husband to forget the cake unless it’s a chocolate icecream cake which I need like another toe. So I think you came out ahead in loot (or toes).

  5. Happy Birthday! What flavor Ben and Jerry’s? I need to know this type of information or it will bug me all day.

  6. cassiebehle

    Happy belated birthday; I hope it was a wonderful one! I would love to see Thompson Square someday – let me know how the show is!

  7. happy half birthday early, because i’m too late …don’t let him forget your cake.

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