I’ve never liked birthday cake. Maybe it’s something about that strange, Crisco-like frosting most bakeries use or the fake, too sugary roses common to decorators, whatever it is, I just don’t like the cakes. As a child I remember eating as small a slice as possible so that I could save room for Mom’s Christmas cookies still lingering from a few days earlier. Birthdays come with a host of pomp and circumstance and none of it holds any real appeal for me. I love other people’s birthdays, but when yours is squished between two of the biggest holidays of the year, it’s less of a rush. When you think about it, birthdays are the ultimate celebration of vanity . . . so I guess I should like them more.
I guess I could take the easy way out and say I am not a fan due to my reluctance to grow older, but really, I don’t feel old and I’m holding my own looks-wise, so it’s really not that. As much as I enjoy being the center of attention at times, I’m not a person that needs that “special day.” No wedding, no crazy birthday celebrations, no gifts to open. I dislike surprises and opening gifts is my nightmare. I also never like the fact that others surprise you with a cake of their design. I am a baker, I know what I like or would make for myself and those crappy birthday cakes almost always disappoint. Nope, birthday rituals are not for me.
Luckily, I have a husband who gets me and that means that my birthday is sometimes not celebrated at all or is enjoyed in a non-traditional way that he knows I will like. This year it is a champagne and chocolate tasting followed by dinner and two great gifts. His gift to me was letting me pick out an over-priced bottle of single malt scotch. Mom never would have given the gift of single malt and besides those dry, over-decorated cakes do not really hold up to the smooth, robustness of a 15 year-old. The other gift was indulging me in three straight hours of America’s Funniest Home Videos. Seriously, I love that show and I know that is pathetic.
I like my birthdays the way they are, understated and filled not with the superficial sentiment of a crowd, but instead with the sincere familiarity of those closest to me. I miss Mom more than I can convey, but she never understood my apathy to my own birthday and I always felt like I was disappointing her. If it is my day, then I want to spend it my way and that means under the radar for the most part. I’ll save the parties for Christmas and New Year’s. The last thing I want is more pressure to suck in my tummy and squeeze into my party dress while pretending to enjoy bad cake and small talk. It’s my party after all, I can be selfish if I want to.
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