Every year, my dear children want to get together and create a fuss for my birthday, when all I want to do is crawl in a hole and hide, at least until I’ve raised enough dough for that facelift I’ve been promising myself since I turned 40.

I am the ‘Scrooge’ of Birthdays... well mine at least. I delight in reminding my friends about their age, searching out mean and nasty birthday cards referencing their advancing years.

I’m really good at pointing out grey hairs and wrinkles on other people.

But God help anyone who mentions mine, especially around my birthday. It seems my sense of humor about age doesn’t extend to me, during the month of May.

So, I don’t want to celebrate! I just want to be miserable ok?

Yes, I know it’s better than the alternative, heard that a million times too. But please don’t force me to accept that I’m another year older.

I really do not need that birthday cake. I’ll end up eating the whole darn thing, then hating myself for having no control...at my age!

It’s just not the same any more, I used to get cards in the mail wishing me ‘Many Happy Returns’, now I get cards reminding me to get a colonoscopy.

I get cards from the public transport office reminding me I qualify for a bus pass.

Yes, darn it, I know! If one more ‘nubile nymphette’ at the supermarket asks me if I qualify for a senior discount, I’m liable to rip her entrails out.

Why oh why, does ‘him indoors’ insist on asking me what I want for my birthday? Isn’t it obvious? Botox.

So as the 58th anniversary of my birth approaches this week, all around me are busy planning the event. I, on the other hand, am equally as busy trying to ignore it.

But, as always, it will happen. I’ll be forced to pull myself together, paste a smile on my face for the benefit of those who love me.

I’ll spend hours prior to the ‘festivities’ with a magnifying mirror and a large jar of what amounts to expensive polyfiller, in an attempt erase any new signs of my advancing years.

Once again I’ll buy some false eyelashes, I read somewhere they act like an ‘eye lift’.

True, if you can actually get them on your eyes. I have yet to manage to actually stick them in the right place.

I have been quite successful at gluing my eye lids shut however, yet I keep trying.

Another huge problem with aging ... one can no longer see, I just hate it when my daughter points out I missed my mouth with my new lipstick.

I think I’ll get my nails done, maybe a pedicure, buy a new outfit, all in an attempt to make me feel better.

Will it work? Not on that day. Strangely enough I feel quite good about myself most of the time ... I just hate birthdays!

Now, if I can just convince the Kenilworth Weekly News to post a picture of me taken 30 years ago, I’ll feel a little better.