Yep, the rumors you’ve heard are correct – the birthday of yours truly is, in fact, coming up just next week, but before you break out the party poppers and strike up the band, I think it’s important that we get something out in the open.  Simply put, “Now is the perfect time for me to buy a new life insurance policy.”

I mean, really – what better way to celebrate my living another year on this green earth, getting a little older and a little wiser in the process, than by cementing my own mortality with a cash incentive to my loved ones to offer me up that extra slice of cake or finally get me that dangerous set of power tools that I’ve always wanted?  Maybe after dessert we can go shopping for tombstones with the birthday money that Grandma sent, then catch a late night skydiving expedition – now that’s what I call a birthday to remember…

…it’s just too bad its memory has to be in the obituaries.  Seriously, folks – a guy like me gets two days a year, and that’s only because I’m taking liberties for Christmas … you know, with it being the most awesomest holiday ever and all.  But even in a couple of years when we add Father’s Day to the list, that still only gives me three – is it really too much to ask that we refrain from talking about my eventual demise on those days?!  Any other day of the year – Tax Day, Boxing Day, even National Sheepherders Appreciation Day – and I’ll be happy to make myself available for discussions of wills, power of attorneys, whatever.  On my special days, though?  Let’s try to show just a little respect, eh?!

I mean, it’s bad enough that birthdays are the time that the state has chosen to harass us about renewing the registration on our personal motor vehicles – I think aside from said taxation, birthdays should be a day of fun and merriment, free and void of all other bothersome worries, both foreign and domestic.  And call me selfish, but on my birthday, I don’t want to have to think about making my own lunch or arguably even putting on pants (that was a good birthday!), much less death via steamroller or…more likely…death via overindulgence of delicious, yet high-calorie birthday cake. The only death that I want to be thinking about is all of the killing that I plan to do on the mini-golf course … metaphorically speaking, mind you…

…because I’m very, very good at miniature golf, you see.

So let’s make a deal, all of you bargain-laden reapers out there, you – you give me this one day to relax and just enjoy the day of my birth, in all of its wonderful gift-wrapped and sugar-coated glory, and then first thing in the morning come tomorrow, we can sit down over a pot of poorly-made tea and awkwardly talk all about whatever amazing, once-in-a-lifetime rates you have to offer me.  You can pretend to be excited about selling insurance, I’ll pretend to actually have money to pay you – it’ll be great.  Just please don’t bother me on my birthday because I plan to be very busy celebrating.

Pants may or may not be involved – feel free to follow up with me on that in the morning…