Yesterday was my birthday. Depending on which calculation you use, I am either 64 (the same age as Cordelia’s Mom), or 2 (the age of this blog). Today I’m feeling more like 2.
Yesterday, everyone was happily celebrating CookieCakes’ birthday. She got cards and presents from the family, and lots of good wishes from her readers.
What am I, chopped liver?
Listen, people, it was my birthday, too! Not one single one of you thought to wish me a Happy Birthday!
Sure, you all come around when you want a good laugh, you come around when you want someone to spar with, you come around when you want to read something that makes you feel like a better person because you’re not me.
But don’t I deserve a little human interaction, too? Would it have been so hard to drop a simple comment expressing your happiness that I was born? You are happy I was born, right? Right?
Now I’m just pissed again. I will find a way to make you all sorry. I will find a way to make sure no one forgets me next year.
The game is on.
[Anyone who wishes to comment may do so on this post, or you may email me at firstname.lastname@example.org or email@example.com]
Image by Cordelia’s Mom