by Will Bailey
Happy Birthday. To clarify, I am talking to myself. Of course, if it happens to also be your birthday, Happy Birthday To You. But mostly, Happy Birthday To Me. What? Is it really that vain and conceited to write a blog that consists solely of self-congratulatory well-wishing and back-patting? Don’t answer that. Perhaps I should distract you with a different question: Who put the bomp (in the bomp, bomp, bomp)? While you are cooking up a plausible answer for that mind-blowing head scratcher, I’ll be over here, singing Happy Birthday to myself, admiring my gorgeous reflection in a koi pond, and doing all the other things self-centered people do. Because, really, your birthday is the one day you can do all of these things without coming across as a shallow human being. Your friends and family are already showering you with adoration for an accomplishment you had absolutely no control over. The kind of accomplishment that you are born into, because, well, being born is pretty much the whole accomplishment. Why can’t I get this kind of attention and praise every other Monday? Wouldn’t it be nice to start your work week with a flurry of messages like “Happy Monday, you doll!” and “Hope your Monday is a great one!” and “Aren’t you excited to open your Monday presents?” But then again, maybe that would make Monday the new Friday, which is when my birthday happens to land on this year. Also, it was Abraham Lincoln who put the bomp (in the bomp, bomp, bomp). Look it up.