Your birthday stops being a group project when you turn 25.
I genuinely believe we’ve reached a point where grown adults have confused having a birthday with being the executive producer of a three-day music festival
You’re turning 33, not being crowned King of England.
Why does your birthday require a group chat, a coordinated outfit, dinner reservations six weeks in advance, an Airbnb deposit, and a mandatory $150 contribution from everyone who has ever made eye contact with you?
And don’t even get me started on “birthday month” people.
A MONTH?
You were born on a Tuesday in 1993. Why does that entitle you to 31 days of special treatment? The rest of us have jobs, mortgages, and laundry.
Here’s my proposed system:
Ages 1–21: Go absolutely crazy.
Ages 22–29: Dinner, drinks, maybe a party.
Ages 30, 40, 50, etc.: Big celebration. You’ve earned it.
Every other birthday: Cake, a few drinks, and congratulations on successfully renewing your subscription to oxygen
I’m not saying you shouldn’t celebrate being alive. I’m saying your friends shouldn’t need PTO approval, a payment plan, and a packing list to participate
And before someone says “you sound miserable,” I love a good party. I’ll happily show up, celebrate you, and buy you a drink
But if attending your 34th birthday requires more logistical coordination than an international military operation, you’ve completely lost the plot
Your birthday is special to you. That doesn’t automatically make it a federal holiday for everyone who knows you
And yes, I’m absolutely judging anyone who refers to themselves as “the birthday princess” after age 30.
Tell me why I’m wrong