Throughout the year I like to think that I make a real effort for other peoples birthdays. Having them listed on my calendar so I can see in advance which one is next. Ensuring I have enough time to think about what gift they would like. Working out their interests, their likes/dislikes, thinking whether they have hinted at anything recently. Ensuring that birthday cards are chosen, a card from Mr Boo and I, as well as a card from the children.
Then you have the arrangements of how we are going to celebrate. A family meal out, a get together at home or something more special. Maybe a day out somewhere. Plotting the date on the calendar, double checking the time and last minute arrangements. Is there anything we need to bring along? Has someone arranged a cake? etc. etc. etc.
Birthdays throughout the year a big deal. A chance to celebrate and join together for fun and laughter.
Except when it is my birthday
Let’s start with the fact that I’m one of those unfortunate people who have a birthday in December. Add on to this that it falls in that awful Twixmas time between Christmas and New Year. So a low key birthday is something that I’m pretty used to. I would even go so far as to say I hate my birthday because as each year passes I find myself more and more disappointed by the lack of effort. Which then
There are never any grand plans for my birthday. No get-togethers, no meals out and certainly no childcare to enjoy a night out with Mr Boo. In fact, I don’t always get a birthday cake, which also means that I don’t even get happy birthday sung to me. Don’t even get me started in the lack of effort people put into gift buying.
Well I’m done
I’ve had enough, so this year I’m stepping back and almost everyone will be gaining a £10 note in their birthday card. And if we are invited to celebrate their birthday I hope that they won’t be too annoyed when I say ‘sorry I can’t make it’.