My New Year’s Eves are never fun. No rollicking parties, no ball drops at midnight, no eating cookie dough ice cream straight from the container and going to bed at 8:30.
Nope! I was foolish enough to marry a man whose birthday is December 31; and we have to do what he wants to do, and he never wants to eat cookie dough ice cream straight from the container.
Well, he does; but he doesn’t want to share it with me.
My husband Brian went through a period in his twenties when he lamented that his birthday and a major party holiday coincided. This was about the same time that New Year’s Eve stopped being fun.
“Everyone’s celebrating, but it isn’t for me,” he would moan morosely sounding a bit like Eeyore the depressed donkey.
I would roll my eyes.
“Oh please.” I’d retort unsympathetically. “No one’s birthday is celebrated on that grand of a scale, unless you count Christmas as the celebration of Jesus’ birthday. I guess that is a big birthday party.”
“But that’s happened for like one guy in all of history! One! If you want a party that big celebrating you, you’re going to have to change some things,” I’d say.
“Like what?” He’d show some interest here.
“You probably should start a following. Get a few disciples. Die a horrific death…”
“What are you complaining about?” I’d press him. “There are countless events and parties on your birthday. Every band we like is playing at any number of our favorite bars. Just pick one!” I’d beg him.
“Besides,” I’d point out, “it doesn’t even matter if your birthday falls on a Wednesday, there’s always something to do. When my birthday falls on a Wednesday, there’s nothing to do!”
My birthday is in late September when people are readjusting to the school grind and don’t go out much. It’s not a great time for a birthday if you want to attend roof-raising events.
“When my birthday comes around no one’s celebrating, and if they were, it wouldn’t be because it’s my birthday,” I’d tell him.
“You should probably start a following,” he’d quip.
This sums up every unsympathetic conversation in my family. I’d shrug and ignore him.
At least in late September, when no one is partying, I have an excellent excuse to eat a carton of cookie dough ice cream and go to bed at 8:30.
Nora Blithe is the author of the syndicated humor column “Life Face First.” Read her blog online at doorinface.com or contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.