Birthdays are a big deal for small children, largely, I would wager, because they’re still coming to grips with the passage of time and their own existence within the cycle of the universe. A year feels unfathomably long when you’re ten. But when you’re 26? Or 35? Not so much. I don’t know about you, but it feels like yesterday to me that Lemonade dropped. Guess what: That was over two years ago! Anyway, when you’re a kid, birthdays are huge, but they’re also relatively low-commitment (unless, of course, you’re the adult who has to throw one, but that’s another story). You do an activity, you sing a song, you have pizza and soda and cake, and then you go home with a sugar high and a goodie bag. It’s a great deal for all involved (minus, again, the adults in charge). And since time feels to you like it’s slowly lurching forward rather than slipping away with each passing minute, and you don’t have anything else to do except youth sports and homework, you really don’t mind going to a different one every weekend.