I'm This Many Years Old

Happy birthday to me

Happy birthday to me

Happy birthday dear me-ee

Happy birthday to me!

If you haven’t guessed by now, today is my birthday!    I have never really been fond of them.   Birthdays are reminders that we are getting older, but on the other hand birthdays are also a reminder that we are getting older. 

You think I’ve already lost my mind in my advanced age?  No, no.  What I mean is that birthdays are a way of reminding us that we are lucky enough to complain that we are getting older because it means we are still alive!  

And just how many years have I got to complain about?   I am proud to say it is my milestone birthday of 480 months!

Yes, I gave it to you in months.  Why?  Because I like to be annoying.   Just like all those new mothers that do the same thing.   They bug the hell out of me.   I am trying to be nice and coo over their child (whom I will likely never see again)  and I politely ask how old is the dear diapered devil.  

I am then rewarded with a math problem as an answer.    “Little Herman is 14 months old.”   So then I am forced to take my shoes off and count to see how many years that is.   14 months, 16 months, 21 months.  

My favorite is 17 and a half months old.    Now I have to whip out my calculator and compute the square root of idiotic divided by the number of times the moon orbits the earth multiplied by how many times I regret asking the “how old is he” question, all the while pretending not to be completely annoyed with one of Dr. Spock’s clan members.

So here I am, the big 4-8-0.   Wish me well, as I wish you well back – without saddling unto you a math problem!

And if you want to send me birthday gifts, I like diamonds, emeralds and Arnie’s Dutch Chocolate Torte!

P.S. – A shout out to my oldest nephew, Spenser.  He just hit the milestone age of 252 months!   You da man!