Monday, November 07, 2005

I Hate Birthdays

My mom booked plane tickets for me to go to the surprise party for my sisters. Ok, first off....I get that I am the surprise, but this should really be my party, too. See, this is the part of being a triplet that I hate. HATE. I WANT MY OWN DAMN BIRTHDAY! Yes, it's petty, but I don't care. When you spend 30 years plus 9 months in the womb with 2 other people, then you can judge me for wanting my own friggin' party. With my own friends and a cake that I like. And I know they will be playing country music at this party. I hate country music. I hate birthdays. When it's your birthday, you're supposed to be special, and the center of attention. You shouldn't have to split it 3 ways. And you should be allowed to have your own damn cake. And all you relatives of triplets that thinks it's a great idea to give them one present to share.....THINK AGAIN! Oh, and along that same line of thought, if you have to give money to triplets, please please PLEASE make it divisible by THREE. Try to split up 100 bucks evenly 3 ways. I dare you. Then tell me how to split that last penny in three. To little kids who only know that SOMEBODY is getting more than they are. Is it really so hard to write a check for 99 bucks?
But anyway, I have hated birthdays for a long time. I suppose I hated them when I was little, but the 1st really horrible birthday was in grade 9. We were having a big party that year. We were each allowed to invite 5 people. Too bad I only had one friend. So, what was I to do with 4 more invites? Oh, well, how easy. Just let my sisters use them for friends they didn't have enough invites for. Ya. That sucks. Not only do these people not like me, but they have to BUY me something. Talk about crappy and thoughtless gifts. I can't even remember what the gifts were. That year was crappy.
Then in grade 10, my friends (I had a few by then) set me up for a blind date for a dance. Nice guy. He was a basketball player. Oh, about 6'8". Have I ever told ya'll that I'm short? Right now, full grown, I am only 5'1". And I was less then. I sat on the bleachers all night. I wasn't in the mood to dance with a bellybutton.
Grade 11, a favorite relative died. Nuff said.
Grade 12. I was living with an aunt and uncle in a new town. It was going well. I had friends and a boyfriend and it was the 1st birthday away from my sisters. My boyfriend decided to throw a huge party for me. Rented a hall, got some bands together, lots of fun. Till nobody showed up to check coats and I had to do it. And while I was, someone was vandalizing my car out back. Fun, fun, fun.
Next year was my 18th birthday. That's the age you can drink in Alberta, where I was living again. Knocked up. Not allowed to drink. And back with my sisters. And one of my sisters invited MY ex-boyfriend, who she was then dating, to the COUNTRY bar that we were at, where he proceded to make fun of me for being knocked up.
Seriously, it goes on like that. I have very good reasons for hating birthdays. Now that I am married and live away from my sisters, my birthdays have been rather low key. A brownie birthday cake, a rented movie, a Timmie's in bed, things like that.
But now they are luring me back. And I have to FLY. Can you believe, my mom's original plan was to fly me back home the Sunday after the party? That's the day of my actual birthday. HELLO!?Somebody hasn't been paying attention! There is no way in Hell I will get on an airplane on the most cursed of all cursed days. Nu-UH. Can't you just see my husband on the news, shaking his head and saying, "It's so horrible. She was so afraid to fly. And it was her birthday, even. She told us so." I told my mom the only way I would go is if I fly back on the monday.
All right. I know I sound like a spoiled little brat. But I love my sisters. And I do want to see them on our 30th birthday. Even if they play country music. But watch the news. You just never know.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

You have all the makings of a good novelist. Go for it.

3:41 p.m.  
Blogger Vanessa said...

YOU DESERVE YOUR OWN BIRTHDAY. Thats all that needs to be said. A day of just your own.

3:21 a.m.  

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