As most of you have hopefully memorised by now, I was born on the 1st of July. This may render me 3 days shy of a Bruce Springsteen song, however it encouragingly equates me to the entire country of Canada and, more importantly, has seen me dubbed “Daddy’s little tax deduction”.
Baby Mandy enjoying the spoils of her parents’ latest tax refund
The 1st of July is a pretty cool birthdate, so I’m eternally grateful that my Mum held out the 16 days I was overdue to launch me into the 1983/84 Financial Year.
Nevertheless, as much as I love my birthdate, it does have its downsides. You might think it would be nice to have a memorable birthday but if you did think that all it would tell me is that you were not born on the 25th of December or 11th of September… and you clearly have no idea what you’re talking about.
No, having a memorable birthday is basically an annual reminder of what a jerk you are, as people (whose unmemorable birthdays you plum forgot) come streaming in from the sidelines to wish you many happy returns.
It’s not that I’m a bad friend (at least I hope not). I just wasn’t programmed to remember dates. I’m pretty sure those genes got used up in the generation before me on both sides of the family.
My birthday also tends to get used as the government’s playground, with new policy launching each year as if giftwrapped just for me: “Happy Birthday Amanda! Guess what? It’s now going to take you 3 years to get your full driver’s licence instead of just 1! Blow out your candles!”
The most terrible thing about being born on the 1st of July, however, is that you will never, ever experience the unbridled joy of your very own pool party. That is, at least, if you expect anyone to attend.
I am eternally grateful that my parents saw to it that I had plenty of awesome birthday parties to help me forget that I went sans pool. They took me ice skating one year (a frozen pool is close, right?) and they took me to Australia’s Wonderland another. When I turned 7 we had just moved, so my Mum helped me make new friends by hand-making a piñata for my birthday party. I had themed dress-up parties for my 13th, 18th and 21st birthdays, sleepovers for most of the rest, and scored at least half a score of homemade Womens Weekly cakes over the years.
These days, you’d probably think Womens Weekly cakes to be off the cards, but even as I’ve moved out of home my new adoptive families have managed to keep up the traditions my parents started before them, and my birthday celebrations since leaving the nest have included another dress-up party for my 25th, and the most awesome 3D dinosaur cake for my 27th.
It is clear that I have just the tiniest hint of Peter Pan Syndrome, which no doubt goes a long way to explaining why I’m trying to cram 30 more exciting things into my life before I hit the big 3-Oh.
… Which brings me to my main point.
Daddy’s little tax deduction has made a few deductions of her own, and I am now the lucky recipient of a generous (albeit belated) birthday gift from the tax department. Some of this is now earmarked for list item number 28: ‘Spend your entire week’s wage on a night out’.
An extremely early birthday party perhaps? Maybe that engagement party my adorable fiancé deserves for being compared unfavourably to an afternoon with Larry Emdur?
I’m still open to suggestions!
Thanks to all my commenters for sharing their thoughts on my posts so far. I love getting your comments and I hope I can encourage a few new people to post today as well? Bring on your crazy suggestions and let’s just pretend for now that my budget has a few extra zeros on the end!