Birthday Singers

My grumpiness has been caused by my birthday. "How's that?", you say. Let me explain. I don't care about my birthday. A simple "Happy Birthday" from close friends and family will suffice. Please do not throw a party in my honor. Please, no gifts. Calling me "Birthday Boy" is tantamount to scraping your nails on a chalkboard as far as my ears are concerned.

Well, my dear Patti doesn't see things that way. Each year she asks what I want for my birthday. I say, "Nothing. .... and I mean it. Nothing." This displeases her. She persists. It's a negotiation. She shoots for a coronation ball. I draw the line at something simple like her cooking me breakfast. I face the day hoping that there is no surprise party or any other public acknowledgement of this most ferial of days.

Early on, I had my guard down. Sarah and I were treated to joint dinner at a chain restaurant. Sarah's birthday is 2 days off and she is of similar mind on the subject. Well -Just Sarah, Patti, and I. No cause for alarm. Suddenly, a band of smiling idiots invade our space with a vociferous birthday jingle and a free dessert. I tried to be tough, but I almost cried out in pain. Sarah may have cried too. Poor Patti. The birthday singers did not please us, but she didn't know better at the time. The only answer we could offer was a gracious "Thank You", with a strongly stated caveat that never again will birthday singers be summoned.

I keep telling Patti that she makes every day special and the extra birthday trappings are unnecessary. It does no good. I must come up with a strong enough birthday wish each year that will make her believe she has done enough.

Birthday singers are lurking. The pressure is on me. I dread the day. I get grumpy.

This year I got off with a chocolate cake, three books, and a nice subdued visit from my nieces. Now that wasn't so bad, was it?

No, not at all.