I don’t remember my 18th birthday.  Is that normal?

I remember my 16th, which was a surprise party. I wondered why my oldest sister was driving silly, making sure we were the last ones there. My other older sister set up a chair at the head of a table with a note on the seat that read, “birthday butt here.” My bestie at the time gave me an awesome collaged shoe box full of candy and an epic mixed tape.* (*A cassette tape of a compilation of personally recorded songs dj’ed by said friend. Is there a modern equivalent to this 90s gem?)

I remember my 19th birthday, because it was celebrated in Prishtina, Kosova over dry fruit cake.  My trip leader and I were interviewed on the radio that day. It was the first birthday I celebrated away from my family back in Arizona.

I remember my 21st, because my older sisters, a friend, and I went to a fancy hotel in Scottsdale, ate pasta, and rode a gondola along a man-made canal. We then went to a bar so I could get carded, but we didn’t drink anything because it was dirty, smelly and creepy.

I don’t remember my 18th because I have had so many more since then.

The “LOST” theme where my chef friend made a cheesecake.

The one where friends dropped by unexpectedly all day due to my husband’s sneaky planning.

The one with the 3″ spike in my tire the morning we were going to take a road trip.

Then the 30th one, where it was like the cosmos got the memo and went to work breaking my body down.

But I digress…

What birthdays do you remember?

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