Art Imitating Life

For as much fun as summer can be with all its semi-nude women, patio beers, and “summer hours” (also known as skipping out early on Fridays), its lameness cannot be overstated. You see, I have a fall birthday, and that means after Christmas I go an entire ten months without presents.

Don’t get me wrong, having a fall birthday as had its advantages: I was among the first of my friends to turn 16, 18, and 21, and that carried with it extreme gloating rights. But, like time itself, gloating rights are fleeting; presents last forever.

This lack of gift giving in my direction isn’t really a problem in the first months of the new year, as at that time I am sufficiently satiated, for a while anyway, from the appetizer of my October birthday and the feast of Christmas. But now that the summer months have arrived I remember fondly the days of anticipation and hint dropping, and I miss them like one misses a discarded half-hotdog that was too much to eat at the time but would taste so good right about now.

The great expanse of presentlessness might be dealt with by simply getting things for myself without tribute to my birth as the stimulus. But I can’t be expected to buy a season of The Simpsons on DVD or an iTunes gift card on my own; if I did, what would other people get me? I must think of others before myself.

I have tried putting it out of mind, hibernating the desire for presents by distracting myself with the fleshy, naked things of summer. However, one tormenting factor stands in the way of this and all other possible solutions: my sister’s birthday. It falls on June 28^th, three days off from being on the exact opposite side of the year from Christmas. It just sits there, smack dab in the middle of summer, taunting me with its even distribution of presents for her.

But no! Not only does she get presents, I have to give her one! Imagine being a starving homeless man, cursed by destiny to sit in front of Burger King begging for whatever pittance the passing fat business executives will throw at you. Now, imagine being forced to go into the Burger King to order a delicious meal with the money you have scrounged together after many hours of begging in the hot sun. But this is not a meal for you. This is a meal for the fat executives, which you are then expected to hand to them personally with a smile on your face as they unwrap and enjoy their bounty right in front of you.

Yes, an October birthday is a wonderful yet cruel, cruel fate.

Posted on Friday, June 4th, 2010 by Art
This post has to do with overthinking

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