Look at this note that someone gave to their server because they thought that a 22-month old baby deserved some special attention from a restaurant. The note is ridiculous for so many reasons but let me just point out a few of them.
- Who the fuck celebrates a 22-month anniversary of a birth? Just wait two more months and call it a second birthday. And why do parents feel the need to tell us the age of a baby in months? At what age does that officially stop? Just say he’s almost two, we’ll get it. (By the way, on September 29th, I’ll be 604 months old.)
- I love how the person had to write it down on paper and pass it to the server as if someone at the table might have heard her say it out loud and then ruin the surprise for the baby.
- Isn’t it adorable that she wants a “small” cupcake or brownie? Not a regular size cupcake or brownie that might be on the menu and therefore cost money, but one of the “small” cupcakes that every restaurant has hidden away in a back stock room just in case a 22-month old baby comes in to celebrate. Also, I have never worked in a restaurant that has cupcakes on the menu, small or otherwise. You’re not at a bakery, lady.
- And are we pretending that an almost two-year-old is going to fully appreciate a candle on a cupcake? This baby doesn’t know what a birthday is and it’s NOT EVEN IT’S BIRTHDAY. It’s just some random fucking Tuesday with someone trying to add importance to it.
- “He’s 22 months today” cracks me up because she feels the need to clarify that today is the day. As if celebrating 21 months and 29 days would just be stupid or something. I can just imagine how excited the staff was to gather around a baby to sing happy birthday to it and then realize in the middle of the song that it makes no sense, because it’s not a birthday.
Lady, the baby doesn’t give a shit about turning twenty-two months old and neither do we. Seriously, I could not give you any shit. Even if I had a huge bucket of shit, like one of those 5-gallon orange ones from Home Depot that was full of it, I still wouldn’t give it to you. I could be holding that big bucket of shit, straining every muscle in my body because a 5-gallon bucket of shit would be really, really heavy, and I still wouldn’t give it to you. That is how much of a shit I don’t give.
Get over yourself.