One of the first birthday-specific memories I have is of my 10th birthday. I whined and whined and whined until finally my mother said I could invite 10 whole friends to commemorate my 10 years.
It ended up being horrifically stressful. It's certainly the earliest memory I have of thinking, "Oh, now I know what stress means! I get it!" I'm sure the other little girls thought it was no better or worse than other birthday parties they attended, but I just couldn't keep track of how all my friends were getting along, and the thought of any two of them not liking each other terrified me.
Of course, when you grow up to be me, you learn quite quickly that no matter how much you love somebody or something, others are unlikely to share in your enthusiasm to the same extent. I might love cephalopods, and I might love you, but you are not required to love cephalopods also.
I won't deny it helps, though.
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