Once you reach a certain age you shouldn't wear short skirts, you shouldn't wear bikini's, you shouldn't keep your hair long, you shouldn't go to rock concerts, you shouldn't eat certain foods, and you most definitely shouldn't enjoy your birthday. Well I say, "Fuck you!" to them all. Yes, I know, women my age aren't supposed to cuss. Get over it.
I've always loved my birthday. It's my favorite day of the year. It's the one day that is completely about me. I get to pick what we eat, I get to decide what we do, I get to tell my house filled with boys that, "Yes, you do have to sit here and watch the Disney princess movie with me. Why? Because it's my birthday!" In short, it's my day. Yet I find as I get older more and more people seem to want to take that day away from me. This year has me thinking about that phenomenon more than any other year. Why? Because next year is, apparently, the last year I'm allowed to age. You see, this year, I turned thirty-eight. And I don't understand why my age is treated like a curse.
I'm proud to be thirty-eight. I survived another year. And that's not a given. My father didn't make it to this age. He was a, burn-bright-die-young, kind of guy. Several of my classmates haven't made it this far. A mother I knew with two small kids died of ALS just this year. Why shouldn't I celebrate and be thankful for being given this year?
For my birthday, I went to see Nine Inch Nails, I dressed in completely age inappropriate clothes, and I ate whatever I wanted. And I had a fabulous time!