I’m in trouble. I haven’t stolen anything, injured anyone or evaded taxes. But I’m feeling the weight of these crimes for doing the unthinkable: I missed my friend’s daughter’s birthday. I have no excuse for my oversight, and as much as I want to blame it on my work schedule and the other things that keep me busy (eating, sleeping, breathing), these reasons somehow seem stale. So, even though I suspect that among all the mini frankfurts and fairy bread, a two-year-old probably didn’t notice the absence of another boring ‘big person’ standing around, ruining the vibe of her red cordial-induced stupor, I’m graciously accepting my penance.
It really makes me miss the days when I only had to remember my parents’ and grandparents’ birthdays. Now there are friends, boyfriends and even work colleagues on the list. (Luckily at work, all I have to do is hope that when I find myself singing ‘Happy Birthday’, I manage to figure out whose it is by the time we have to sing their name – or resort to Plan B, and take a sip from my glass at that precise moment.)
Thanks to mobile phones, it’s unacceptable to forget anything these days, least of all birthdays. Unfortunately, what my loved ones tend to overlook is that it’s an achievement for me to even shower, dress and be out the door in the morning. Sometimes I expect a ticker-tape parade and a deafening applause as I walk to the car: “Yes, she did it!”
From then on, my day is more of the same mayhem, and it’s not usually until I check my voicemail at night that I come across a mention of someone’s birthday. Which is how I’ve learnt that texting them at 11pm, between brushing my teeth and turning on the alarm, doesn’t necessarily give them the ‘high priority’ feeling they’d hoped for. My other method has been just as well received, I recently nearly succeeded in bribing my friend’s five-year-old son to lie to his dad and say I rang the day before to wish him a happy birthday. But my friend caught wind of it and intervened, in an effort to stop me corrupting the next generation.
So, since my friends and family no longer buy any of my tricks, I concede defeat. And seeing as birthdays aren’t going away any time soon, I’m vowing to turn over a new leaf and drag my memory through a vigorous workout of dips and sit-ups in the hope that I can retain all the necessary dates. I’ll even push myself to remember the birthdays of all my friends’ kids. But only if there are a few party pies thrown in.
