I Really Don’t Care If People Forget My Birthday
I’m more concerned with whether they remember me the rest of the time.
“These people don’t know you at all,” said my husband two days after my birthday as people scrambled to make sure they wrote on my Facebook wall before too much time passed. “People who knew you would know you hate this.”
I turned 45 this past Sunday, but not everyone realized that on the day itself. So, the rest of the week found various random people sliding into my DMs, texts, or social media timelines to make sure I knew they’d been appropriately reminded by their social media platform or digital calendar of choice.
In most of those cases, I couldn’t tell you why they needed me to be aware of that, though. I pretty much never hear from most of the people in question, as a rule. In a couple of cases, I struggled even to recall who the other person was or how we’d met.
And my husband was right. The fact that they were worried I’d be upset if they somehow failed to acknowledge my birthday shows that they don’t know me that well.
I’ve never been what you’d call a birthday person.
I’m that coworker who, on purpose, doesn’t tell anyone at the office when their birthday is and isn’t all…
