I have a confession. I am the birthday scrooge. I do not get, have never gotten, can't figure for the life of me the big deal of birthdays past the age of - oh for the sake of argument - age 9. When you hit the double digits in the age department I'm ready to cut you loose.

I am the guy scrunched down behind the sofa at the surprise 40th or 50th or ??th mumbling "what the heck are we doing" as the unsuspecting birthday boy puts his key in the front door lock.

"Somebody get ready to dial 911." I'm apt to mutter just before the big "surprise!"

There are a few of us birthday Scrooges out there. At the office where I work we have a cake once a month to celebrate the birthdays of those workers who have birthdays falling on that calendar page. We light candles and sing and carry on. On some occasions no one is present at a given meeting from the list of names on that month's birthday list. And so the point is...well I'd have to guess cake for cake's sake at 10 a.m.?

On these festive birthday occasions our assistant office manager reveals she is, like me, a fellow birthday scrooge. Drussy doesn't like the mess the cakes make and doesn't like the assignment of hauling cakes in from who knows where. Most of all, she clearly does not like to be the designated cake cutter. Drussy uses a knife that resembles a meat cleaver to hack the cake into pieces. She cuts the entire thing up, puts the cake squares on paper plates and sticks a plastic fork in the top of each piece.

The birthday celebration looks like a crime scene when she's done cutting and a food fight when quitting time arrives at 5 p.m.

On the opposite side of us birthday Scrooges are the birthday nuts. These folks are the ones that declare their birthday "month" and celebrate the entire week of their "special" day. They declare immunity to tasks or work or obligations due near, or on, this sacrosanct day.

"Oh no, I couldn't finish the annual report - it fell due on MY BIRTHDAY."

My wife feels my negative attitude towards birthdays has come at a price. She mentioned that some years back when we were guests at my friend Ray's surprise 40th birthday party. It was an extravagant catered affair with much festivity and at least 100 folks in attendance.

"I wouldn't want 40 friends at my 40th - let alone this sized crowd," I whispered to her during the Happy Birthday song.

"You don't have 40 friends," she whispered back.

And then there's the cards. My friend Pat is the world's best card chooser and birthday observer. I don't know how she does it. I can forget my own birthday coming up only to be reminded by a little card arriving in the mail that week with "Pat and Paul" on the return envelope.

But I'm intimidated by the card rack. There are just too many choices for my taste - and the prices! One day my wife assigned me to buy a birthday card for a family member. I headed off to the drug store to face the racks and racks of cards. In one aisle I stumbled into the humor section and went from card to card. I laughed until I cried - some of the cards were that funny. But still, after a half hour of entertainment, I couldn't force myself to pick one that seemed "appropriate."

My friend Anna and I are just a day apart in the birthday department. Anna is a serious birthday celebrant and her phone rings for hours on her special day. Flowers are delivered, parties are thrown. Anna reaps what she has sown for she is the original birthday well-wisher. This year she called me from Italy to wish me the "happiest birthday ever!"

Anna doesn't know about the Scrooge thing. Some things don't need to be shared.

Meanwhile, I'm thinking Hallmark might want to consider the Scrooge line of birthday cards. At least I would know from what section I'm supposed to be making my choices.