As I stand here looking at the seven birthday party invitations on my fridge, it is clear what I must do. Effective immediately, I have declared myself Galactic Overlord of Birthday Operations and I will be the sole authority on all birthday party-related topics. I take no joy in this burden but your careless actions have left me no choice.
To stave off the downfall of the human race from birthday party induced fatigue I have issued the following decrees:
Decree the First: There will be only two birthday dates a year: One on the summer solstice and one on the winter solstice. This will allow children who are accustomed to celebrating their birthdays in warm months the opportunity to get as sunburned as possible and will allow parents to suffer from the maximum amount of birthday party heat exhaustion that usually occurs over a birthday party season.
For the winter children, the winter solstice will give them the least amount of sunlight, thereby preparing them for the harsh reality that their birthday parties will for eternity take place in cold bars during the height of flu season ensuring that everyone is sick for a week after their party.
Decree the Second: Parties will last a maximum of one hour. All children will open their presents at the same time so that we don’t have to hear our kids complain that Riley got Emma Rose a better present because Riley’s Mom is an overachiever and even though the invitation said not to bring presents everyone knows that she will get some $50 present anyway, forcing the rest of us to stop at Walmart on the way to the party to grab whatever anthropomorphic talking animal doll is all the rage these days
Decree the Third: All cake, ice cream, and gross stuff the vegan parents force on their unwitting guests will be served at the beginning of the party so that we aren’t all held hostage by the social deviants that schedule three-hour birthday parties on the other side of town forcing us to have prolonged awkward conversations with people we only vaguely know for unhealthy lengths of time.
In addition, no one will be allowed to lie and say that you hate to run but little Sophie has a soccer game but thank you so much, this has been just the best party. Look Sophie’s Mom, we envy your assertiveness at being the first to make your escape but if we’re stuck here then we’re not letting you out either.
Decree the Fourth: All Birthday parties will take place in big open fields with abundant items from the Hasbro Corporation, preferably of the NERF variety. This will keep parents whose children have never broken a bone or experienced head trauma from booking parties at trampoline and gymnastics places. Also — and I can’t believe this is even still a thing — it will keep parents from booking parties at the 7th level of hell, Chuck E. Cheese.
For any of you richies that have never experienced it, imagine being locked in a laundromat with all the machines running at the same time with unbalanced loads and on slightly different timing with techno remixes of the Super Mario Bros. theme song playing at 100 decibels and 50 Salvation Army Santa’s ringing their bells vigorously while hundreds of drunk wallabies bounce across your line of sight to your children and at least 12 creepy looking individuals roam the place offering your kids balloons like Pennywise the Clown. That almost approaches the terribleness of Chuck E. Cheese.
Finally, any attempt to circumvent these decrees will be punishable by the offender living out his or her days working double shifts as the manager of the Disney Store at their local mall. Surely, that fate is enough to discourage anyone attempting to take matters into their own hands.
The following article was syndicated from Medium.