Butter, my Valentine.

When I was three, the Valentine’s fairy brought me what would turn out to be the most miraculous of all past and future Valentine’s Day gifts: A friggin’ baby sister, Leslie.

I don’t remember if I was excited about this, or what. But I’ve heard tales of my trying to lift her tiny infant body by the collar of her onesie. My pushing her. My wanting to name her “Butter”. I chalk all that up to my coping with the abrupt and absolute end of my 3-year streak as “Most Cutest”.

After her survival of the following era of sisterly torture (Including but not limited to: 1. The time I slammed her pinky finger in a door and the EMT comforted her by saying “If we can’t reattach your finger, we’ll use a piece of your toe”, 2. My jealous rage over her the time she was a model for a gymnastics leotard catalog, 3. The cutting of all her Barbie dolls’ hair and re-hair-do-ing with acrylic paint, and 4. My Mom telling me “You probably shouldn’t be calling her Lesbo in public”), I thought maybe this sister-person might be worth getting to know.

I am fortunate to have THE most amazing sister in the world. She is beautiful and kind and loving and hilarious. And today is her BDay. She will always be my favorite Valentine. How could she not? She bares the scars of our “getting to know each other” over all these years. And she still loves me.

Every year, I try so hard not to make her bday present Valentines-y. And then I am giddily overwhelmed with all the pink and red and glitter and hearts and I end up getting her the equivalent of a long-distance lover’s gift box. Champagne, chocolate, romantic card. This one was making me laugh though. Because it’s so intensely romantic. So, I added a few of my own meaningful touches:

*Hopefully she’s already opened it and this isn’t ruining the glorious surprise(!) I love you, Butter!

I hope you guys all have your own awesome day today. If anything, make sure you eat like a ****ton of candy.



Talk to me, Baby.

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