It’s my birthday!
About ten years ago on this day, I would celebrate by promptly puking by guts out.
I did that about every year for several years in a row. Not just once or twice – several years in a row. There was just something about my birthday I found so darn exciting that I couldn’t contain the contents of my insides. I literally became so excited that I hurled. I think it had a lot to do with the fact that I didn’t get out much.
It was a pretty inconvenient tradition. The first year it happened my parents assumed I had taken ill and any plans to see friends, eat cake, or go to McDonald’s PlayPlace were postponed. After a few years in a row they started to see a trend and my mother was enlisted to help me through the puking each morning. As long as I got all the anxiety out in the AM, I was usually good to go by after-school celebrations.
I remember one year my older brother approached me in the couch to wish me a happy birthday and before he could close in for a hug, I spewed my guts into a large bowl my mother brought me from the kitchen specifically for the occasion. It didn’t matter that he was family; any allusion to the importance of the day was enough to send anxiety through the acid in my quivering stomach. Like the exorcism of some violent hell demon, my head began to rotate as I expelled everything within me at the mere mention of birthday shenanigans. Cats, brothers, furniture – nothing was spared the wrath of my innards. Poor mom wanted to comfort me because she knew how hard the day was for me but when I hurled, she went running.
Her offspring or not, that woman has always hated throw-up.
And so I’m off to commence birthday shenanigans. After all, I’m 25 today. I’m a fully-fledged mid-twenties adult and I’ve got walking around and feeling responsible to do. Heck, I might even renew my driver’s license today just to celebrate.
Here’s hoping I don’t spew on the DMV clerk. ♣