The time to rejoice is nigh. You’ve suffered through the other 364 days of grueling boredom for this, the most wonderful day of the year where rules don’t apply to you and people bow down to your slightest whim.
That’s right, my friends, I speak of your birthday.
Even though today may not actually be your birthday (if it is, quickly give this paper to someone else to read aloud — you shouldn’t be expected to read on your birthday), for those of us fortunate enough not to be born on Feb. 29, we know that every year we’ll get a reprieve from mundane life for 24 hours. What other day brings cake, presents and the possibility of clowns?
Though if you are anything like me, you may have noticed that birthdays start to lose a lot of the mystique and sense of accomplishment they used to hold once you get to a certain age. Growing up, we all knew that each year gone brought us closer to some benign goal or milestone that we held up on a pedestal.
Thirteen brought with it the title of “teenager” and to some more chosen than others, the chance to call yourself a man or woman. Sixteen was an age for mobile independence and a chance to prove all those driving instructors wrong on the open road. Eighteen meant adulthood and that the government finally recognized your right to buy spray paint and vote for things you have no clue about. And, of course, the illustrious 21 has its “power hours” and beer connoisseurship.
But after 21 there seems to be a sad drought of milestones to conquer. No longer is there the joy of finally being able to do something that was forbidden before. Indeed, after all the milestones have come and gone, another candle on the cake only seems to make girls worry about how old they are getting and makes the guys worry about just how old the girls are becoming.
Fret no longer though because I have a plan to not only bring back the birthday morale but also give a boost to our economy. I say that instead of toiling over universal health care and stimulus packages, our government should instead start working toward increasing the number of arbitrary age restrictions we have in our society.
Want to buy a jet ski? Not until you turn 37, Joe.
Ever thought that owning a cockatoo would be fun? You’ll be able to find out if it is when you turn 28.
I bet some chocolate milk would really hit the spot right now. Well I’m going to need to see some ID because we card under 50.
And you better not even think of setting foot into Rhode Island before the age of 43.
I know a lot of you are thinking that some of these examples are pretty strict and ridiculous, but think of the joy you had the first time you took the family car out on your own or how sweet that first legal beer was. Well, with arbitrary age restrictions, we can have something to look forward to every year.
Think, too, of the booming black markets that will form as a part of this plan. From fake IDs for 40-year-olds, to bathtubs of chocolate milk, our nation’s shadow economy will thrive.
So if this year’s b-day doesn’t bring you the excitement you have come to expect, hopefully a milestone will be part of your birthday wish.
Andrew is getting his fake ID ready for a wild chocolate milk kegger in Pawtucket. Join the party jet ski at andrew.hadder@asu.edu.
