How did I get put into a lunchbox… Well it seems I was there all along.

I met my now husband and at the time I felt wild and free and in love. While he was driving, it meant that I got to the chance to really do it MC Hammer style and bust out some moves along to the music as a golden oldie “beer” song came onto the radio. I’ve forgotten what it was, but I knew all the words and danced smiling at my boyfriend with a secret hope he would join in. What I got was a smile, shake of the head and a sigh. Slightly hurt, but never the less I refused to let it stop me from enjoying myself, so I continued. Much to his constant smiles he refused to join in. Infact he threatened to kick me out of the and make me walk. Note: this only made my singing louder and my moves more obnoxious.

Later that evening at home our relationship had gotten to the point of those three little words “I Love You” in which he responded, “Thanks,” squeezed me tight and kissed me. Wait a minute…. He didn’t say he loved me too… Cogs that tick in a woman’s mind as she kisses. Remember guys, she is a multi tasker. I pushed away and asked with a slight frown, “Do you love me too?”. There was a pause, then slowly this mischievous smile appeared wide across his face. He looked over at me and said, “Of course I do, in your own lunchbox,”. And so it began a relationship fully accepting of my whacky habits, wired ways of looking at things or going about a task + my interesting fashion sense. He loved me for the world that I created for myself and was letting him in on.

This triumphant moment marked the first recognition of my adult life that I was fine just the way I was. I was Vetti, and being in my own “Lunchbox” wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

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