Today is the 32nd anniversary of my birth. At least I think I turn 32 today. Maybe I should ask my mom. I was born in 1979, so yeah I’m pretty sure I’m 32. I’m not huge on celebrating my birthday, it’s just not a big deal to me. I don’t need a party and my love handles certainly don’t need a cake. However it does make me light up a little when someone wishes me a “Happy Birthday.” What happens when your 400 (Gross exaggeration) Facebook friends post on your wall? Well normal people are delighted. Lucky for you I’m not normal.
Facebook, twitter, and other social networking sites makes remembering and wishing someone a happy birthday virtually effortless. With every long-lost friend’s well wishes comes a little image from my memory. Mostly brief, mostly innocuous, but every once in a while you get a little flashback that makes you want to punch your younger self in the face or at the very least cringe with embarrassment.
So today I got a Facebook message from an old college friend wishing me a Happy Birthday and telling me how adorable my kids are. At first I smiled to myself and thought, “Oh how sweet.” Then I got an image of us being caught in a compromising position and how I was so horrified at who had caught us that I immediately sobered up. I don’t remember many details, but I do remember when I tried to call a cab, this old friend insisted on driving me home.
I never understood why people thought he was such a scumbag. He was always sweet to me.
Some Things Just Need Saying 