I can vaguely remember when my birthday used to be a big deal, well, a bigger deal than it is now. I mean, you would have a party, and I mean a real party. The kind where you buy invitations and fill in the Who? What? Where? When? and RSVP blanks and wait to get phone calls from your friends telling you they’re coming (Yes!) or they can’t come (Oh noes!). And your birthday then became this huge thing as your friends ring the doorbell and are dropped off by their parents and you eat cake and play games and open presents in nicely wrapped paper. When do we get boring? I think my 13th birthday was the last time I had one of those parties.
And now I’m 19, just as I was becoming accustomed to 18. Not only does 19 mean that I’m now not 18 and a number older than my boyfriend (tehe), but it means I’m in an awkward stage again. Think about it. When you turn 18 it’s exciting because you’re legal, but what’s special about 19? I’m still legal, obviously, I don’t think that’s something that’s ever going to be taken away from me, and I’m still a teenager. So, I’m legal and a teenager, but I’m at the new and exciting stage that is being 18. I’m just 18+1. I have a feeling I’m not actually making any sense.
But, fortunately, turning an awkward age doesn’t mean I had an awkward birthday. Some friends baked me a cake and “surprised” me at midnight when it was officially my birthday. It was delicious.