Oh, how I hate my birthday. I’m just not a holiday person. I’m employed all sorts of stratagems to ease the annoyance of the day. Some years I pretend it isn’t happening. Other years I sleep all day. They’re not all terrible, though. One year my baby-mama put together an absolutely superb surprise party to interrupt what I had hoped would be a particularly somber and self-pitying meal at Red Robin. Two years ago I threw the atom heart mother of all birthday parties. What should I do this year?
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