So-So Sixteen

Welcome, October.

"Octo" is the latin root for eight, obvi, but, history lesson of the day, January and February were added to the calendar after October was named, so now the Romans just look dumb. Whoops.

My birthday is this month and I'm turning sixteen and I don't really care. Usually I count down the days, and then hours, and wake up anticipating a new segment in my spine or longer hair or the ability to feel the pea under my mattress, but usually, I wake up feeling the same. Well, always I wake up feeling the same. Anyways, this year I could care less, because I've met the bitter realization that none of those things actually happen. Because when you do have a birthday, and it's not a significant one(18 and 21 are significant [I don't get my license until February] ... right?) only a few things are going to change:

• When your far-off relatives who don't care actually about you come to visit they tend to ask the same, general questions, to which I can answer with nothing even slightly impressive: 1. Do you have a boyfriend? Noooo. 2. What sports are you in? Sports? Have you seen me? 3. How old are you now? 16. I'm 16. Last year I said 15 and the year before I said 14 and now I'm saying 16. And I'm somehow still the same person.
• When your parents lecture you, odds are they bring up your age. But it's always in their favor. "No you can't go to that concert, you're only 16!" "No I won't pay for that, you're almost 17!" Each year it ups one. Each year it's just a different number that gets waved back and forth in front of your nose.
• There's one more candle on your cake. It's all just numbers.

You poor little thing.