Birthdays were awesome in high school and college, they came with things like learner’s permits, driver’s licenses, voting, pornography, and booze. 25 is the end of the line: because now you can rent a car so the next big milestone is social security and medicare. And you’ve got a long ways to go before you get there and then you realize that based on current government spending, the tax structure, and politics it’s kind of debatable whether or not social security will be there when you finally do get old enough. Then there are so many other ways in which your birthday declines in excitement…
Like the first time someone says, “Okay, you know what, we don’t have to put the full number of candles on the cake… I only got one pack” when it used to be all the candles +1 for good luck.
People stop asking you how old you are because all of a sudden it’s considered rude.
You realize that you’re in the South now and everyone calls you “ma’am” and the Yankee/young person still inside you is screaming, “WHO YOU CALLIN’ MA’AM, ASSHOLE?!”
All your friends have stopped celebrating their birthdays because they have kids now and those are the birthdays that get parties and apparently a 1 year old’s birthday requires other children and no alcohol.
Your birthday is overshadowed by your cousin’s young children who proceed to open all your presents for you and instead of stopping this terrible behavior everyone thinks it’s adorable to be creating selfish, self-centered brats with no boundaries.
Despite all of this, there is one thing that will always and forever make my birthday totally worth it: Carvel ice cream cake in the shape of a turkey. Happy birthday to me! Until my dad, the type II diabetic eats the entire cake at midnight and then vehemently denies it as though the cake fairy came in the night and ate it.