MEL BUTTLE

“I never once got a birthday sticker on assembly”

Ihave a strained relationship with my birthday, I’ve never been into celebrating it with gusto like some people. To me it’s slightly embarrassing, I mean imagine explaining birthdays to aliens: someone is a year older, so we bring a cake to them that’s on fire and all sing the same song at them in unison.

I’ve been to a few celebrations lately that were far more involved than a Sara Lee cake and the lights flicked off at Mum’s house. You know those people who throw a three-day celebration called The Festival of Steve, with events such as barefoot bowls, beer tasting and mini golf. Steve, you’re a 52-year-old accountant, but good on you for partying like a Kardashian.

Then there are the people who do a big dinner. You turn up to a Mexican place and are shown to a table longer than most swimming pools, you’re nowhere near the birthday person, instead you’re next to someone they work with whose name you didn’t hear over the roar of Rihanna songs. All they want to talk about is their renovations. You don’t know what a cornice is so you just spend the evening nodding in agreement over your pile of nachos that indoor-outdoor flow is very important.

I think my birthday hesitancy comes from having a January birthday. At my primary school if it was your birthday, you were invited up the front of assembly, the deputy principal would ask you how old you were, you’d answer into the microphone and then, as the whole school sang you happy birthday accompanied by the squeaky, out-of-time school orchestra, a sticker would be placed on your shirt, and you’d get a clap at the end.

Apart from being asked to give the thank-you speech to a guest who’d come to your class to talk about not smoking or Anzac Day, getting a sticker on assembly was the other big-ticket item in primary school. There was talk that if you were in sick bay at the right time and the office lady was in a good mood you’d be allowed to ring the school bell, but that’s just an urban myth. Daniel Kucks reckoned he rang the bell once, but he also said he used to go to America on the weekends.

In my seven years of primary school, I never once got a birthday sticker on assembly, because my birthday is on January 25. One month after Christmas, two days before school started most years and the day before a public holiday. Growing up I heard this a lot, “that’s Christmas and birthday, you’ve done quite well this year”.

My birthday has always been a lightly populated affair, people are still away, the year hasn’t even started on January 25, some restaurants aren’t back open yet; we all know that Australia gets going properly around Valentine’s Day.

My mum is insisting I do something for this birthday “because it’s a big one”. She’s also asked me repeatedly what I want for my birthday. I’ve told her large jars for storing flour. I’m on a minimalist, spring-clean thing at the moment, so large storage jars are exactly what I need. Mum said, “jars aren’t very exciting”.

She’s right, instead let’s rebrand it. Welcome to the Festival of Mel, please RSVP for either the boozy brunch pantry clean-up with mimosas, the selling old Tupperware containers on Marketplace scavenger hunt, or let me know if you can make it to the wheelie bin stuff-down dinner. Gosh if this is 40, imagine 50 … maybe I’ll finally get that labelmaker to go with the jars.