It seems a bit funny to me that we celebrate our birthdays. The one day in the year that we expect to be all about us, despite all the other chances we have to get things from loved ones like Christmas, Valentine's Day, Easter, etc.

I was thinking to myself yesterday, "Self, why do you expect your birthday to be about you?" It's like, we want to get credit for being born? Why do we get credit for that? It's our parents who had sex, moms who got knocked up and parents who dealt with us being terrors as toddlers. Further, it's the moms that did the work on this day, work that seemed like what was pushing a watermelon out of a hole the size of a pea.

Ah yes, parents, the flawless travel agents of guilt trips. So I've figured it out:

We should buy our mothers presents on our own birthdays, and yell at our grandparents on our parents' birthdays!