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You might think that I misspelled comma and meant coma in my title, but I assure you, I meant comma. The love comma is my favorite tale of Valentine's past. I think people dislike Valentine's day because of the expectation, and that's just what happened. For me, Valentine's doesn't need to be chocolate dipped peonies and a rose petaled pathway leading up to him making baked Alaska while I sip champagne by the fire. (Hey, a girl can dream.) We like to show affection for each other. Often, we go to a party with friends or cook something at home.

We like to take Valentine's day easy, and it's only because of what happened on one of our first one together. Since I surveyed you all, and many of you haven't been reading this blog for more than a year, I felt it necessary to bring this story up.

Before we were married, Michael and I dated long distance. We were both in college and he lived 3 hours away. One year he came home for Valentine's Day, it was Friday and he came after classes and got home late. I should preface that I was in a particular fussy disposition. I tend to over analyze holidays. All holidays make me a little anxious, this is a terrible quality that I have, I'm aware. I set certain expectations that are generally never met. I was already in a mood and I couldn't hide it.
I handed him
a Valentine's gift (a handmade gift: a picture of us in a frame in
which I wrote all our inside jokes around the border. I was VERY proud of
this). So, after opening it, I ask him, “Where is my gift?” (I told you- I was in a mood). He goes into the living room and I hear him fumbling, and finally say, “Uh Uh UHHH, In HERE.” I walk in to beautiful light pink roses. Yay! Oh, how sweet, I loved them.
At the end of the night, I'm about to
leave, and pick up the roses to take them home. His brow furrowed and his his lips pursed as he looks at the bouquet and says, “Oh Helene, just leave them here.” I'm so confused, they're my flowers, I want to take them home where I can see them. We go back and forth
about why I should leave them there, I'm puzzled. Finally he exclaims, “Those aren't yours. They're my mom's
and they were here before I even got home.” My mouth drops, I turn, I leave, unhappy.
The next morning he came to my house. He parks his red truck, which he affectionately called Delilah, and I spy him out the window sitting in the car far longer than I deemed necessary. He finally comes in, and hands me a card. I can't remember what the card said but all he wrote in it was, “Love, Michael.” I look up at him, wide-eyed and say, “All you think of me is Love COMMA Michael?”
 Needless to say, Michael always remember to write a little more than “Love Comma Michael” in a card. And I try to not take V-day so seriously, and just remember it's a “love comma” not the whole story. I know that's a little sappy, but it's true.

P.S. Yesterday I booked a VERY last minute trip for MARDI GRAS. I can't believe I'm actually going. For all the antics, find me on instagram @heleneinbetween.

Now I want to hear all about your Valentine's days, tips, trick, why you hate it or love it… anything! Grab a button and link up below:

Helene in Between
Helene in Between

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