Every year, in October, I get anxious. Because I know that come October 17th, I will be another year older. It’s not the aging that frightens me, it’s the fact that it is my birthday.

Birthdays in my family are a big deal. As a child, they were built up to being on the same level as a national holiday. Therefore, I expected that everybody that was important to me would make the same fuss about my birthday as my family did.

So, last year, when there wasn’t a carnival or blimp flying outside my apartment that said:

I became very sad. I believe that on my actual 30th birthday last year, Wil was working.

Each year, he insists that he is going to do something “really cool” for my birthday, and then we end up just hanging around the house, not doing anything particularly exciting.

Mint and I went to see “Where The Wild Things Are” with Ari, which was fun but Wil and I didn’t get to do anything, because he was working, and that was disappointing.

This year, I’ve informed him, that I want him to do something for my birthday. Look, I don’t want a pony, a trip to Disney Land or Las Vegas, but I do want to acknowledge that I am celebrating another year of life. And, of course, I want a cake. Chocolate. Is there really any other flavor? Come on.

For his birthday, I took him camping, so I deserve to have something special done for my birthday. I’ve decided. I don’t care if 31 is a random number, I’ve lived another year and that is worth celebrating.