By Frank Sinatra, AAP Editor
Put away the party hats, leave the streamers at home, and pop the balloons. I’m officially skipping my birthday this year.
I turn 50 this month. FIFTY! And I am not a happy camper. Generally, 50 of something is pretty good. Fifty bucks? Great! Fifty baby sea otters? Totes adorbs. But 50 birthdays? KILL IT! KILL IT WITH FIRE!
The fact that I most likely that I am firmly placed around Hole 11 of the back nine of my existence has firmly smacked me in the kisser with an Acme hammer from a Bugs Bunny cartoon. I am not a fan. Cue the existential dread, the sense of ennui, and an incredible urge to yell at kids to get off my lawn. I look to my elders for guidance, many of whom have handled this particular milestone much better than I am.
To paraphrase the Mad Hatter, there are 365 “unbirthdays” I can lean into. With 2024 being a leap year, there is even an extra day that is not my birthday. Three hundred and sixty-five days to struggle with laundry, doing dishes, shouting to the heavens in frustration, and fixing things I may have broken while lamenting about hitting the half century mark. All of these preciously, wonderfully mundane moments are much more preferrable than turning the “big 5-OH.”
I refuse to be oldish, older, or just plain old. In my delusion, I have firmly embraced my midlife crisis, desperately grasping onto anything that brought me joy as a child. Comic books, action figures, pop culture t-shirts, D&D books. He-Man, Transformers, G.I. Joe, Star Wars, Doctor Who… you get the idea. A credit card and poor impulse control are wonderful things. The missus does not agree… unless it involves fabric.
In the fantasy world I have created for myself, Tastycakes never changed their recipe, and you can still chase after the Mister Softee truck without running out of breath. There is no need to spell Losartan, let alone have to take it. And naps are a fun, recreational choice, not a necessity after a long day, which seems to be almost every single one of them.
Still, I’m sure there will be cake. Just cut me a small slice. Glucose levels, after all. And if anyone REALLY wants to get me something, I am always accepting monetary donations to the “Frank Sinatra Needs More Action Figures” Foundation. It’s a very good cause.
So, yay. Happy Birthday to me. Please get off my lawn.
