Happy Birthday Day, or Why I Don’t Celebrate Thanksgiving

Happy Birthday Day, or Why I Don’t Celebrate Thanksgiving

“My birthday is on Xmas, so everyone tried to get out of it with one gift,” my coworker lamented. “It’s hard to have a birthday around a holiday.”

“I’m a Thanksgiving baby,” I commiserated, “so I get it.”

“Ah! You know what it’s like to have your birthday ignored too,” he exclaimed.

“Noooooooooo,” I said looking at him with sorrow. “We celebrate my birthday in place of the other national holiday.”

Happy birthday to all the Thanksgiving babies out there!

Happy unbirthday to those you who weren’t born on Thanksgiving!

It’s My Fault

It’s My Fault

I blame my mother for lots of things.

I blame her for showing me that every meal you serve needs a salad, grain, vegetable, and starch.

I blame her for teaching me to avoid eye contact with unsavory characters.

I blame her for telling me that the only correct dryer setting is ‘muy seco.’

My mother knows that I blame her for all this and more. In fact, she readily accepts the blame and might even glory in it. She has always been so ready to accept responsibility that I had no idea there was a limit to what she’d take credit for. But there is a limit, and I reached it.

“Flashdance is a great movie. Why did you never show it to us?” I asked my mom, accusingly, after a sick day in bed lead me to finally watch that 80s dance classic.

“You never watched Flashdance?” asked the mother who once insisted that I wear off-the-shoulder shirts to dance class, because that’s what they wear in the movie. “Why have you never seen it?”

“Because you never got it out for us!” I blamed her.

Her response was immediate and pointed: “You’re 26. You’ve been out of the house for a long time. This isn’t my fault.”

She’s right. This one’s on me. But watching The Full Monty? That one’s on her.