This is my idiosyncratic (not to be confused with idiotic) contribution to Andy Townend’s Dark Side Thursday challenge. It’s a bright take on my dark side, so it’s no match to Andy’s very own cemetery serial story or Desleyjane’s inaugural contribution describing her own murder.
I woke up to a bunch of birthday wishes today, and it’s not even my birthday. The internet thinks that it is, though, so the reality is irrelevant. It’s all the fault of my dark side. My dark side thinks that my birthday is nobody’s business, so when I registered for Facebook, I filled in a fake date.
Telling the date when I was born isn’t a big deal, but that’s how it starts: you give Facebook your birthdate and the next thing they’ll want your measurements. I didn’t feed Facebook a random date though. I used the other most important date of my life: not my wedding date (which was smart, considering that I divorced), but my graduation date. Graduating is a much more memorable achievement than being born or being married.
Now how to explain it to the mislead well-wishers. I received lovely birthday wishes from a dear fellow blogger the first thing in the morning. When I texted back with a thanks and an observation that it wasn’t my birthday, my poor friend was devastated. I also mentioned that my birthday was actually in July, but I accidentally typed June, on which I corrected myself, and now I think she thinks I wasn’t even born at all.
That much to my credibility. A better informed well-wisher, better informed because he eavesdropped on the previous awkward conversation, proceeded to wish me a happy unbirthday. I suppose it’s better than an unhappy birthday. I unthanked him anyway. I’m just like the Queen in reverse: I celebrate my official birthday in spring while it’s actually in summer.