My Birthday, Not My Party, Not My Rules

I’m too old for this shit.

Birthday cakes and tones of friends and relatives making noise, singing that crappy “Happy B-day to you” song.

I forbid to put the candles on my cake, ’cause it would probably start a fire, and I love place where I live and I don’t have a particular need for redecorating it or moving out.

My conclusion: these parties are not about me,  it’s about all of them.

I love the feeling they make to themselves, thinking how they have made me happy, or how they accomplished to cherish my own B-day.

Sorry guys, but fuck that. I’m not buying it.

I will pretend, I will smile, I will dance if I have to.

But deep inside, my only thought would be: “Can’t you go home, like..NOW?!”.

 

And when it’s all over, when the silence finally fills my apartment and my mind, I get myself a glass of red wine.

“Well Tina, it looks like we managed through another year.

You’re older, but it seems not wiser, as you predicted.

So, again, like the last year, and a year before, I raise this glass to myself, wishing for the wisdom. Happiness may come too, it will be welcomed. But the wisdom, I really pray for that. Happy B-day….”.

And after that, my favourite movie, popcorn and my cats.

That’s what I call a B-day party.

Thanks Morrissey, for the background music. It really fits the atmosphere.

 

 

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