Why do we celebrate our birthdays, anyway? If there is anyone who deserves a party in their honor every year on the anniversary of our births, it is our parents, not us. All we did was show up; they’re the ones who did all the actual work.

Let’s think about this for a minute. For nine and a half months, our mothers had to carry us around, all the while watching their own figures rapidly diminish until they could no longer see their feet or stand up on their own.

You might think that our fathers had it easy, but after being the crazy pregnant wife, and crying every time my husband fell asleep on the couch while watching television, and therefore obviously didn’t love me, I have to disagree. Our poor fathers had to put up with nine months worth of mood swings and temper flares that we unknowingly caused.

So wouldn’t it make more sense to throw a party for our poor, suffering parents on our birthdays? I don’t know about you, but I’m convinced – if only because of the fact that it means the focus is off of me for a while.