I want a F*cking Pinata

Have you ever noticed that as you get older people stop asking you what you would like for your birthday? In fact, if it weren't for your parents and perhaps your own significant other, you might not get as much as a card to mark your special day.  It is as if you are supposed to pretend like your birthday isn't the most awesome day of the year, and that actually you would prefer if it were left at a monthly group cake celebration in the office conference room.

Okay, I get that the increasing number of candles on the cake can be a wee bit.... depressing, particularly when you are staring down menopause in likely, less than ten years, but DUDE, it's your birthday!!! Forget about the age part, it is the one day of the year when people pretty much have to be nice to you. Your boss really can't yell at you on your birthday. Your husband can't bitch at you for putting the kitchen's last existing sharp knife in the f*cking dishwasher, and anyone who fails to wish you HBD on your Facebook timeline has to face down guilt and utter shame.  It's a good day. Damn right I want to acknowledge it.

Why do we leave birthday celebrations to the youth? We mark our children's birthdays with parties, cakes, pinatas and presents. At 16 you might get a car,  at 18 we recognize adulthood, at 21 we have raucous binge drinking, and finally at 30 there is usually a somewhat more sophisticated blow-out. But how about 39? God damn 39. Too old for birthday shots at the club, and (in my opinion) too young for the lame "over the hill" parties. 39, like so many other years is mostly forgotten, acknowledged quietly in the privacy of ones own home, or at an over priced restaurant finished with a sliver of "death by chocolate" cake
adorned by a solitary candle.

Well I am here to say SCREW THAT. I want a fucking pinata! I want a god-damn party. I want to get all dolled up and be the center of attention for one lousy day of the year! Don't we all deserve it for the mere act of surviving yet another 365 days of aging? Should we not embrace the opportunity to celebrate the beautiful life we have been given? Damn straight. Every other day of the year I blend in with the crowd. I rarely get called out for any of my life accomplishments, I am in fact terribly ordinary, EXCEPT for on my FREAKING BIRTHDAY- when I can claim special privileges and yes, I'll say it: It can be All. About. Me.

So for the love of God, do not send me to a lame dinner where a few whiny adolescent waiters croak out "Happy Birthday Ole" while rolling their eyes at the old folks.  Dance with me. Get me good and tipsy. Tell me that you love me in the biggest boldest way you can.  Smash that pinata with all your strength. It is my day. And I want to go big.