Tommorow is my 28th birthday. I know you probably won’t believe me when I say this, but I honestly kept forgetting that my birthday was on deck until two days or so, and even then I haven’t given it a whole lot of thought.

I told the Modern Love Machine that I really wasn’t feeling my birthday, and he said that was sad. Except that I’ve never been one to care a whole lot about my birthday.** I tried making a big to-do about it last year, figuring it had been an up-and-down year and I need to celebrate myself, but it just felt weird and awkward to me when it was all said and done.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the cards and Facebook messages. It’s nice to be thought of, but I don’t want anyone to go out of their way for a day that I really had nothing to do with. Credit the Modern Parents with that one. I didn’t even decide to be born — the docs had to C-section me out.

The MLM offered to cook me a really nice dinner or take me out to wherever I wanted. After a few days of forgetting to think about it, I eventually decided I just wanted pizza — crispy thin crust pizza like the type that my favorite pizza place of all time serves. And strawberry cake from my favorite bakery.

This year I seem to care less than ever. When the Modern Mom asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I struggled to come up with something. I almost always have ideas for what to ask my parents for. I guess all I really want is for my house to be fully furnished and decorated in a way that I like, all the yet-unpacked boxes of stuff gone, the yard weed-eated and landscaped, the MLM and I to agree on paint colors and more time to enjoy it all.

And world peace.

Seriously on the world peace bit, though.

**The lone exception being my 21st birthday, naturally. Currer Bell and I had a party of epic proportions that still gets mentioned from time to time, thanks to Noodles and Modern Angie. We’re talking all-day, moonwalk, drunkenly created homemade slip’n’slide epic.