It’s Memorial Day weekend, and I’m thrilled that The Daver will grace the home with his lovable presence. We’ll probably BBQ some hot dogs (low fat–sadly), sit outside and enjoy the weekend. For once this terrible spring, it seems to be warming up slightly. I take this as a positive omen.
We’re not really a celebratory family for this sort of holiday. July 4 goes pretty much unnoticed, we BBQ, we watch the fireworks, and if they were “legal” in this state, we’d light sparklers. We don’t have knock down parties, inviting our friends, we have no real traditions unless you count not having traditions a tradition (I do).
Memorial and Labor Day are the same for us: we enjoy the time off, we try to remember why we have these days off, we might BBQ, we might not. They’re just not holidays I care about that much.
Pretty much any holiday that falls from January to October I don’t care for, and that sadly includes my birthday. Remember when you couldn’t wait for your birthday? You’d shiver with excitement over the mere thought of it being Your Birthday for weeks before it happened, reminding everyone in a 10 mile radius that it was going to be YOUR BIRTHDAY soon. I kind of miss those days.
My birthday is in July, the day after Bastille Day and I’m totally dreading it. Last year was the absolute pits, I had been in a wedding the day before, I had a cold, Alex was up every hour on the hour, and then at 1 AM I ended up with in the ER with a corneal abrasion. I spent my birthday proper hiding like a vampire from the light, which caused me excruciating pain. I also couldn’t see out of one of my eyes, so it was disorienting to try and do, well, anything at all.
Sadly, the Vicodin they gave me in the ER was the highlight of the day.
It was a highly depressing day. When you get older, no one remembers your birthday, and no one makes a big deal out of it. It’s not a landmark unless you turn an age that ends with a ’0′ and since those come along only about every ten years or so, it’s not something you can really look forward to.
As much as I’ve told The Daver that I don’t want to acknowledge my birthday in any way this year and pretend like it’s just another day to avoid the inevitable disappointment of it all, I know that I’d be sad if he did this. I want the day to be special, but I don’t know how to make it special (unless recreational Vicodin use is involved). I’m truly conflicted by my birthday this year, and I’ve got to think of how to resolve this before my husband sells me to the gypsies or worse, the Republicans (I TOTALLY AM ON THE REPUBLICAN MAILING LIST AND I HAVE NO IDEA HOW I GOT THERE).
I’m SUCH a little bitch! How do I resolve this, y’all?
Have a truly wonderous weekend, all of you, even my super-stealthy lurkers out there. Aunt Becky and her Sausages love you madly, sweet Internet Friends. We’ll catch you on the flip side, where I can only hope heavy drug use is involved.