Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Conspiracy Theory of the Worst Kind

So it’s my friend’s birthday today. It is a day that is anticipated and celebrated, by at least one person, every year. A day that would be respected and commemorated anywhere in the world. A day of old memories and new beginnings. A day that was randomly pulled from a hat.

When someone tells me it’s their birthday, I’m always kind of suspicious. I’m thinking, “Prove it.” Lets be honest. We’ve all gone to Applebee’s and claimed it’s our birthday for a sweet-action blondie brownie a la mode. But when they pull out their drivers license (or even their birth certificate), to me it’s just a plastic card with some numbers on it. Antics like this are pulled off every day.

1) Kids with fake ID’s. Ex: Teenager Zack Morris sneaking into a club to be with his ‘college-aged’ girlfriend.

2) Kids with fake ID’s. Ex: High schoolers getting booze for a party.

And did I mention…

3) Kids with fake ID’s. Ex: Little Chinese girls running and jumping after shiny, sparkly things.

Think about this for a second. Does anyone remember that ‘first’ day in the hospital? If they tell you they do, they’re lying. I can hardly remember Jr. High, let alone those first moments in my parents’ arms. So the next thing I know, I’m a six year old being forced to memorize my ABC’s, my name, and my birthday, all while trying not to spill my Superman lunchbox while chasing after the morning bus. (I actually carried my lunch in a brown paper bag that my mom stapled shut so the food wouldn’t fall out. But that’s beside the point.)

Who is she to tell me when my birthday is? Just because she left notes in my lunches and tied my hood on really tight doesn’t mean she knows when my birthday is… does it? I mean, she was there. Supposedly.

The bottom line is: no one really knows. It can’t be proven. I can’t just cut my friend in half and count how many rings he has. Mom can say she had that child. But did she really? Babies could’ve been mixed and matched in the maternity ward. The doctor could’ve written random dates on that birth certificate... if he was really a doctor. Dad could’ve taped someone else in labor.

So to my friend I say, Happy Theoretical Birthday.

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