Why holiday birthdays suck big boughs of holly
I was born on Christmas Eve. Just an hour and 45 minutes later and I’d have been a full-on Christmas baby, so it could have been worse. Here are the top five suckiest things about a Christmas birthday.
1. You will never ever have a real birthday party on your actual birthday. People are spun up about holiday stuff and ain’t nobody got time for you. Not when you’re eight and not when you’re forty.
2. Your twenty-first birthday will not involve bar-hopping and drunken debauchery. Because no one will go out on Christmas Eve! Sure, grandma might finally let you have a glass of wine, but you can forget about tequila shots and table-dancing. You know where I spent my 21st birthday? At dinner with my then-boyfriend’s family in Jackson Heights, Queens where all the New Yorkers examined me like a strange specimen from the wild west.
3. Gift-fuckery. I.e. everyone and their dog will give you joint gifts. Which is a goddamn rip-off. “This is for Christmas AND your birthday!” they say. And you will thank them and mutter to yourself. Okay, I’ll just screw YOU over when your birthday arrives in June. “Hey, remember that Christmas gift, buddy? That was for your birthday too! Wheeeee!”
4. Everyone who sees your identification will coo “Ohhhh a Christmas baby!” I know it’s not terrible, but it gets old.
5. No one will ever forget your birthday. Even when you’d like them to. It’s too memorable. So for the rest of your life people will remember that it is your special day and yet will not celebrate with you and probably give you a bullshit joint gift.
To all my fellow sufferers, I feel your pain.