The Domestic
Feeling short-changed on the birthday front, Sophie White makes a compelling case for hijacking Himself’s special day and re-celebrating her birthday this year
Piggybacking on a birthday for extra cake
This year, my birthday fell during lockdown. As such, it was somewhat destined to be a bit of a damp squib. Although my incredible and extremely presents-orientated family went above and beyond to give me a special day, horrific narcissist that I am, I still got (momentarily) petulant at the universe for scuppering our usual mode of celebration.
Our customary birthday approach is something to behold. The first time Himself was privy to the protracted, chaotic family gathering that attends birthdays in our family, he immediately understood why his gift to me — nothing — had incited a cataclysmic huff on my part. This response was admittedly unfair, given I’d said ‘no gifts’. But this was a test. Surely anyone could see that?
The birthday gatherings in my family always involve a lot of vocal scrambling to get our anecdotes heard first and loudest, along with gifting so loaded with love and thoughtfulness it is borderline pathological — and, of course, without fail, two desserts.
For my family, gifting is a particular art; no random candles or jars of generic skin-product for these people. My aunt, in particular, is a talent in this area, and curates boxes of beautiful clothes, often including a prized piece of vintage selected from her own incredible collection for the lucky recipient.
You would think that some of the mania for gifting would have leaked into my own marriage, but no. Since that first year that Himself witnessed the birthday-gift-tsunami, he opted out, and instead we just buy our own birthday presents. As time has passed, however, it’s begun to hit him that this approach may be even harder on the bottom line, given that I am inordinately generous to myself. This year’s self-present was a thing of beauty — hand-painted sunglasses from Optica, only the most gorgeous shop in Dublin for people who need glasses.
On seeing this transaction on our account, Himself vowed to find an equally thoughtful and spendy gift for his own present, and this week, to mark his 36th year, he did just that, returning with some golf paraphernalia.
Now, we are having the customary family gathering for him, and I feel cheated. I’ve decided it is my right to ride the coat-tails of his birthday, given that mine had to be celebrated on Zoom. Himself is not best pleased, and I sense the family will side with him if I don’t make a convincing case.
Luckily, I have a genius strategy. Obviously Himself is a blow-in in this family; a beloved blow-in, but a blow-in nonetheless. As such, he has often tried to rebel against our traditional birthday desserts: the meringues, berries and cream, and the stunning creation detailed on the right, the boudoir biscuit cake — a more delicious cousin of the tiramisu. He, heretic that he is, has never liked it, pronuncing it ‘too rich’ — which, in my opinion, is not a thing.
When making the case for my piggybacking on his birthday, I’ll be informing them of his treasonous loathing of the boudoir biscuit cake. Once they realise that if Himself has his say, the cake could be in jeopardy, I’m sure they’ll allow me to gatecrash. If all else fails, I’ll just throw a rival party — then we’ll see who they love most. Obviously they’ll pick me, but I know they’ll only be in it for the cake.