You Can’t Come to My Party

When I was a kid, the insult of telling someone else they can’t come to their birthday party was like the ultimate insult. The pinnacle. Even harsher than I’m rubber and you’re glue.

These days, though, as an adult (at least by age, not by maturity), threatening to not invite someone to my birthday party doesn’t have the same effect. Nobody cares. Being an adult makes everything suck.

Although, to be fair, most of my parties these days are solo parties, usually involving ice cream, Sleepless in Seattle, Zac Efron staring back at me from his poster with soft, non-judgmental eyes, and AA batteries for my vibrator. Sometimes crying salty, millennial tears, which I save to drink back up later.

Why wouldn’t someone want to be a part of that?

 

 

 

 

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