A Bieber birthday

The Hero and I decided recently that we would like to be six again, mainly because of the birthday parties kids get to go to today, which in no way resemble the birthday parties WE went to when we were six. OUR parties involved either a) pin the tail on the donkey (sometimes with the birthday child's father playing the hapless donkey) or b) a pinata. Either way, someone was bound to get hurt.


Of course birthday parties are much more sophisticated now, in cost and extravagance pretty much resembling the average wedding. A relative of ours, for example, was encouraging her almost-six daughter to relate her recent adventure at a friend's birthday party.


"We rode in a limo," she said shyly.


"A pink limo," her mother put in. "And where did you go?"


"To a spa," she said.


I personally did not know what a spa was until I was some large multiple of six.


It turned out that the party had been at the "Pink and Fluffy" Spa, or something similar, and that it existed solely to treat giggly young girls like princesses.


"We got manicures," the almost-six princess said, sticking her hands out to be admired. "And they did our hair and they put sparkles in it and they put sparkly makeup on us." She blinked her eyes several times, lest we miss the ten-pound mass of sparkly makeup on them. 


"Whatever happened to make-a-bear parties?" I wondered.


In her estimation, however, the best part was the music, which leaned heavily on the side of Justin Bieber. She did not quite swoon as she said his name -- her eye makeup was too heavy to allow for any swooning -- but her admiration could not be missed.


"How do you know who Justin Bieber is?" her mother demanded.


The almost-six princess looked guilty, as if Justin's part in the party was supposed to be a secret.


The mother announced that, as much fun as this party had doubtless been, there would be no limo for the birthday of the almost-six princess, which is this month. But the princess did not seem perturbed at this as she admired her nails and batted her sparkly eyes at us.


"I went to a birthday party in a limo once, for the kid I babysat for," I told the Hero later. "With a bunch of nine-year-old boys. To a play."


The Hero, who had not been overly impressed with the spa idea, outright scoffed at this. "For a BOYS' party," he said with enthusiasm, "the ideal day would be riding in a limo, drinking tons of Kool-Aid and eating a bunch of candy until they throw up, and then after that -- well, I don't know how it could get any better after that." 


"Boys are weird," I said.


"Nine-year-old boys going to see a play is weird," he said. "They would have had more fun with candy and Kool-Aid."


Boys, you'll want to hire this guy to plan your party. And moms, you'll want him to stay far, far away.