Children’s birthday parties are a necessary evil of growing up. Your friends have kids. Eventually, you have kids. And those kids will have birthdays. And those birthdays will require a little shindig. You’ll get an invite, because your friends need someone to help them deal with a million screaming kids running around everywhere, and you’ll make them return the favor when it comes time for your offspring’s annual sugar rush nightmare.
I’ll find myself at plenty of these along the road, especially considering I’ve already created my male heir. I’ll eat some cake, bring a present, and have a few beers. Hell, if I’m half the man Madoff is, maybe I’ll dominate a few of them. So friends, go ahead and send me the invite, but, let’s get one thing straight: I don’t give a fuck about your kid’s birthday party.
Listen, I know you love talking about and displaying your kids. I’m a proud parent myself. My Instagram is 95 percent baby pictures and 5 percent stuff only I think is funny. So I understand that you want to display every little thing about your child, from their first steps to that huge mess they made that makes all of your childless friends glad they pulled out. But parents, you gotta stop with this birthday party shit.
You may think, “Oh, people talk about their weddings and post about them all the time.” That’s true, but while we may hate your wedding, we sure as shit are looking forward to getting shitfaced on your dime at it. Attending a wedding can be a pain in the ass, but at least there’s that light at the end of the tunnel of you ending up blacked out upon leaving the tunnel. Children’s birthday parties aren’t in the same league, unless your kid is Billy Madison.
I don’t care when you post asking for addresses so you can send out the invites. Almost anyone who likes you and your child enough to suffer through that party is someone whose number you already have. If a casual acquaintance hits you up on Facebook saying they want to go, that’s a red flag in itself. If you’re letting people who you don’t know well enough to have their digits attend a party for your child and numerous other small children, you might as well invite Child Protective Services as well.
No one, absolutely no one, outside of you and your child (and maybe that weird friend you have who just loves planning shit) cares about the theme. You haven’t given a shit about a theme since college, and even then, you didn’t care much because you knew you were getting tanked regardless. That was then. Now, you’re seeing someone ask if their kids party should be Sesame Street or Doc McStuffins (Sidenote: any kid’s TV show that sounds like a gangbang porn set in a hospital is questionable children’s entertainment at best).
For fuck’s sake, I don’t want to hear about the fun activities you have planned for the kids. Piñata, tug-o-war, tag, whatever. None of it appeals to me. I’m in my mid-twenties. The only things I enjoy doing are drinking in excess, sucking at golf, and talking shit about my life. And I only get to do 1.5 of those things at a kid’s party. I couldn’t care less what you have planned, because I’m just going to clutch my shitty light beer and wish I could be a kid again, or at least be back in college.
If you invite me, I’ll go. I’ll bring a satisfactory present, I’ll bring my fake smile, and I won’t get drunk and inform the kids that the magician you hired isn’t real. You can make me grow up and attend parties that don’t have open bars, but you can’t make me give a shit about them. .
Image via YouTube