The Struggle is Real for the Sagittarius Kids

My birthday is this week.

If you’re a December baby, I feel your pain.

If you’re not a December baby, you have no idea what I’m talking about.

You see, we December babies are a put-upon bunch when it comes to our birthdays.

We simply can’t compete with Christmas — or as it is better known — the time of year when 2.2 billion people all try to cram into the same Olive Garden for 7 p.m., reservations every night in December.

If your birthday is any other time of year, you can enjoy a leisurely celebratory meal. And we all know what happens afterward. Dozens of times we’ve watched the server bring you that little piece of complementary cake topped with something called ganache. We’ve heard the staff sing to you. We’ve watched you blow out that little blue candle.

Try getting a free piece of cake or a serenade in December. And heaven forbid anyone lights a candle when the place is already an overcrowded fire hazard.

If you don’t believe me, I urge you to swing by your favorite restaurant this Friday night. 

The lobby temperature will be about 200 degrees, and it will be filled with two dozen Christmas parties of 20 waiting shoulder-to-shoulder for their tables. They yuck it up with each other while taking up all the overflow seating with scads of presents piled in their laps.

Meanwhile, the ol’ Sagittarius birthday boy and his poor little family are cowered down in the corner like the Grinch and Max during the Whoville Christmas parade.

The archer is the symbol for Sagittarius, right? Wrong. Sagittarius stands for “he who must wait 4 hours for his birthday ganache and never got to blow out squat.”

Those people who complain about the war on Christmas surely don’t have a holiday season birthday or never received a birthday present wrapped in red and green paper with Noel printed all over it.

Until I was 12, I thought Noel was a German word for happy birthday.

I only had one traditional birthday party growing up. I was probably 8 or 9. We had it in my garage with kids from church.

I remember the kids spending the entire time trying to one-up each other on what they were getting for Christmas.

We played pin the tail on the donkey. I’m surprised we didn’t blindfold each other and try to stick a red felt ball to a cardboard cutout of Rudolph hanging on the wall.

Having a December birthday is no fun for a college student, either. 

Do you want to know how I spent five consecutive birthdays between the ages of 19 and 23?

Studying for finals.

“Hey, Currin, what did you do on your birthday?”

“Oh, man, I got so smart last night. I started out by brushing up on my Spanish verb conjugation, then I buzzed over to the biology lab to make sure the pins holding open my dissected frog hadn’t come loose. I’ll tell you, by the time I sat down to write that paper about the defenestration of Prague, it was midnight. I shut that library down!”

To you December babies, buck up. It’s time to gut out another one.

May the ganache be with you.

About Barry Currin

Barry tries to be funny and poignant, and he's usually satisfied when he succeeds with one or the other. (Being both is awesome. And sometimes that happens.) Email him:

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