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Every year, my birthday is unceremoniously upstaged by the next day's more glamorous birthday celebration: Canada Day.

Each year, my achievements are outshone by the nation's triple digits; this year, 141. As each June 30 approaches and I recruit friends and family to engage in festivities (and hint wistfully at how very surprised and delighted I would be if a surprise party were to be thrown in my honour), I am met with the inevitable reply: "We'll just celebrate it the day after, on Canada Day."

Completely logical, yes, given that the entire country is usually granted a reprieve from work/school/life obligations on July 1, even if it falls midweek.

But as I approach my mid-20s, I've begun to resent Canada for stealing my thunder. It may be downright bratty, but I want my own day without the looming cloud of patriotic revelry crowding my glory.

If the nation and I shared the same birthday, I would be more than willing to have a joint celebration and embrace my comings of age alongside our country's. Alas, I was born a few hours before the clock struck midnight, and have since blown out my candles in Canada's shadow. No one wants to put up streamers for David's party if Goliath's party, complete with clowns, pony rides and an inflatable jungle gym, is the next day. Better goodie bags, too.

I take issue with the term "Canada's birthday." Was Canada nurtured in an earthly womb for nine months and then delivered into the Northern Hemisphere? Did it lie in a continental cradle for its formative years, rocked by its older sibling, the United States?

Canada wasn't "born," in the traditional sense. Its alleged "birthday" is simply the day in 1867 when Confederation united four British North American colonies. A federal dominion, not an infant, was born on July 1. I'm advocating a return to the term "Dominion Day," but I admit this is mainly motivated by my inferiority complex.

In grade school, my birthday endured more trivialization. All the privileged children who were born between September and the third week of June were treated to a public day of praise initiated by teachers and classmates. Cookies and sometimes cake were distributed. The rest of us whose birthdays fell in the months when school was adjourned were lumped into the category of summer birthdays and half-heartedly acknowledged at the end of the school year or in the June newsletter. No cookies or cake in sight. No fanfare.

My June 30 birthday was doubly overshadowed in those days by the usual end-of-school frivolity. Only my well-mannered upbringing prevents me from lamenting how my birthday gifts became birthday/high-school graduation gifts. All those who read the Cancer horoscope are sure to have experienced that one-gift-instead-of-two phenomenon come graduation. Perhaps we should consider forming a protest group with the kids born in the two weeks surrounding Christmas.

I have spent time trying to come up with fun and significant facts about June 30. For example, it is one of the exact middle days of the year, which means New Year's Eve is technically my half-birthday. Unsurprisingly, this fact doesn't get much notice when I try to bring it to the attention of partygoers popping open champagne bottles at midnight on Jan. 1.

As it falls shortly after the summer solstice, June 30 is one of the longest days of the year, with more than 15 hours of daylight. Then again, same goes for July 1. Am I doomed to a life of birthday mediocrity?

All greediness and self-absorption aside, the time of year has come when I ponder my age and wonder how to observe its passing. Twenty-three is a particularly inconsequential number. I've passed the 21 milestone and am not quite halfway to 30. Canada is also turning a rather insignificant age - 141 is merely a step toward 150, or its sesquicentennial, the next birthday with an important-sounding name.

So it's a minor year for the nation and me. While I wallowed in my birthday anxiety, I never stopped to consider whether Canada suffered from a similar inferiority complex. After all, the Fourth of July falls a mere three days after Canada Day. Independence Day even has a namesake blockbuster movie.

Perhaps Canada is as much a victim of upstaging as I am. Maybe this year I should embrace a combination celebration instead of regarding it as a snub, in the name of maturity and patriotism? Make it easier for my close friends and family to enjoy their statutory holiday and avoid my yearly it's-my-party-and-I'll-cry-if-I-want-to rant? Perhaps a float in the parade in my honour? A personal birthday shout-out appended on the city's Canada Day banners?

I will still pretend the fireworks tonight are for me.

Brittnee Russell lives in Victoria.