By and large, birthdays are a fine tradition. People have to buy you stuff, for one thing, and there is often cake, and champagne, and badges that say "It's My Birthday!" which allow you to flaunt your special status for one magical day only.
And yet, as time goes on, a problem begins to rear its ugly head. Birthdays are all well and good when you're 18, or 22, or even - gasp - 25. There comes a point, however, when one wishes to celebrate, and take advantage of birthday perks, without actually having to accept the addition of another year on top of your already quite frightening total. If you work in a college, where all the gamine young students are positively OBSESSED with how old their teachers are, the situation is even worse (I tell them I'm 45; or 55; or sometimes even 95 - worryingly, there is always at least one student who believes me.)
Thus I have decided to start living vicariously through my blog, which turned three years old yesterday. You can tell I am old, and stupid, and befuddled, because I actually thought the anniversary was today, and am therefore posting a day late for my own celebration. Still, never too late - gifts, wine, dinner invitations, birthday cake etc. will be most gratefully accepted, and I promise to pass every last donation on to the blog (after a small cut, you understand, only fair for my trouble.)
And don't even THINK about saying it's too close to Christmas and that you'll simply give TTDIM a joint birthday/Christmas present; although, actually, if you're offering....