Not every Friday the 13th tale is a horror story. This one is all love ❤️

This story was originally published on Friday, Aug. 13, 2021.

“Happy 13!”

I’ve heard those words from my wife, Jena, at least once a month, every month, for more than 14 years. For 169 months, to be exact.

It started on Friday the 13th of July 2007. Remember when you first started dating someone, and you’d celebrate your monthiversary milestones like the little giddy kids you were? Heck, maybe you’re in that beginning stage right now. Good for you! Swoon.

Well, we just kept doing that every month, and still do, every single 13th. So, 13 became our lucky number. “Lucky 13” became our signature way to sign birthday cards or how to personalize a meaningful Christmas gift or engagement ring. The topic of almost every “we should get matching tattoos” chat.

But every once in a while, the monthiversary comes with extra meaning. No, not the standard yearly anniversary. That’s fine and dandy and the dinner is always fantastic. I’m talking about whenever a 13th lands on a Friday. That spooky day that was deemed horrific by a guy named Jason Voorhees (or was it his mom?) donning a creepy hockey mask and murdering teens in the "Friday the 13th" films. Or did it start before that? I'm sure it did. Feel free to Google your hearts out on that one.

Sure, the number 13 has a long history of being unlucky. No 13th floor in skyscrapers, the betraying Judas was the 13th guest at the Last Supper. The … the baker’s dozen? And did you know that the fear of Friday the 13th even has a name? Paraskevidekatriaphobia. You do now.

Well, ever the contrarians, self-proclaimed weirdos and both big fans of horror movies, Jena and I embrace our little special dark number with pride. Our special weirdo day.

We celebrate every Friday the 13th with horror movie marathons at home with the volume up way too loud. We share a smooch during popcorn breaks and wish each other a happy 13th as we recount all the other Friday the 13ths we've spent together. As we will do this Aug. 13, I'm thinking "A Quiet Place Part II."

In the beginning, love created everything

Jena and I grew up in the same charming small Village of Greenhills, Ohio. (If you don't know where that is, I always say it's right up the hill from Winton Woods park.) She spent a lot of her teen years at her best friend's house, right across the street from where I lived that whole time. We had a lot of mutual friends, but somehow never actually knew one another.

She first caught my eye in my commuting-to-college years when she was "The Ameristop Girl." A sort of local Greenhills celebrity at the time. I'd make extra stops at the convenience store regularly in hopes that she was working. Bonus points if she was wearing her Tool hoodie (best band in the world).

We officially spoke for the first time at the Back Door Saloon – just around the back of the Ameristop – after the town July 4th festival. I'd used my signature bar-pickup move: I kept staring at her.

And apparently that didn't totally creep her out. Win.

Eventually, we shared smiles. Once I saw that smile, I was hooked. We chatted about how jealous she was that I'd gone to see Tool in concert a few days prior. I complained about the bad time I'd had at the show because of an argument with my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend. (Meeting Jena sped up that process.)

Our first date was on 7/7/7, July 7, 2007 ... The way she tells the story, I invited her to a simple picnic, but then, to her surprise, it turned out to be my sister's wedding.

So she was tossed right into the ring of fire, meeting my entire family – as well as a couple of my ex-girlfriends that were close with my sister – on that first date. I guess I was a glutton for awkward situations back then.

Still, Jena fit right in with the whole family instantly. (Though I swear to this day that I'd warned Jena that it was, indeed, a wedding.)

So, as we continued seeing each other, we had our choice of special dates to choose from as our monthiversary. We could have said July 4th; but meh, that's the country's anniversary. Also my parents'. We could have gone with our first date, 7/7/7. But my sister took that one. We wanted something that would be our own.

Once we realized the first day that we went "steady" was on (or, honestly, maybe near) a Friday the 13th, that was a wrap. Do people still say that? Going steady? The day we officially became boyfriend and girlfriend. The day we started "going out." What in the world do they call that these days?

Anyway, we're weird. And that was only the beginning of our love affair with our favorite day on the calendar.

'Well, I mean, we pretty much have to'

I asked Jena to marry me with my knee awkwardly placed on the driver's seat of a Toyota Yaris. It was parked in the campground outside of Indianapolis Motor Speedway after a day of watching motorcycle racing. We were cooling off in the A/C. She was in the passenger seat, I proposed with the little red plastic ring from the twisty top of a Smirnoff Ice bottle.

I'm pretty sure there was a small period of time that she wore a ring from a quarter machine for a while there as a better place-holder.

I officially proposed with glitz and glamor on the Arnold's Bar & Grill stage during MidPoint Music Festival. We were there to see my buddy Josh Eagle playing, and Jena thought he was calling me up to the stage to play with him. Instead, it was a nervous speech, and then down on that knee with a diamond ring and a slow dance up front. (And the crowd goes wild!)

When we got home that night, I showed her that there was an engraving on the inside of the band, "Lucky 13." And if you've ever been engaged, you know what came next. Every single person in the world asks "WHAT'S THE DATE!? WHEN IS THE WEDDING!?"

But it didn't take us long to decide. We wanted to get married on our anniversary. So that I'd never get in trouble for forgetting the date ... kidding.

Maybe.

We pulled up a calendar, and wouldn't you know it, our next anniversary fell on a Friday. The first time that had happened since that first "steady" date. Friday, July 13, 2012. "Well, I mean, we pretty much have to," we basically said in unison.

Our invitations were little scratch-off tickets branded with a casino-esque "Lucky 13" signage. Once scratched, they all revealed "Winner winner, BBQ dinner!"

The wedding was a keg party at a cute little lodge in Sharon Woods. We made the pulled pork and all the sauces. We brewed the wine. Both of our families packed the place. Our friends' heavy metal band played. There was a Jell-O shot toast, not Champagne. Some people wore costumes. Some men wore dresses. There were inflatable monkeys and flamingoes. It was delightfully weird in every way.

Fast forward to this: July 13 fell on a Friday again in 2018 (which won't happen again until 2029). We celebrated with a double-date dinner at Dave and Busters with our friends. We won enough tickets to take home a pink flamingo neon light. Before we left, we all tried their new virtual-reality "Jurassic Park" ride. I sat back and watched on Jena's turn. I don't think I've ever seen her laugh that hard. With those big VR goggles on, she couldn't tell I was staring – the whole time – at that smile of hers that makes me feel so lucky, no matter the date.

Moral of the story? Make your own luck, but let love guide the way.

And one more thing ... Math isn’t stupid.

Jena can often be quoted saying "math is stupid," with which I wholeheartedly disagree. She's the English nerd, I'm the math nerd. So, here's my proof that dates matter and numbers are important. (I can't wait to explain this out to her like long division.)

We've never discussed or noticed this before, but we were both 26 years old on that wedding day. 13 plus 13 equals 26. How weird is that!?

It gets weirder.

While taking a break from writing this story, I went for a walk around Greenhills, where we now own my old childhood home. I was thinking about how I mentioned earlier that Friday, Aug. 13, is our 169th monthiversary. Turns out, 13 times 13 equals 169. As in, we're now celebrating our 13th set of 13 months. What are the odds that I decided to do this story on this date? I totally didn't plan this, but, you know, as luck would have it; happy 13th baker's dozen, babe.

Rasputin Todd is the entertainment and lifestyles planning editor for The Enquirer and Cincinnati.com. You can send him your little love stories or happy feelings about the number 13 any time at rtodd@enquirer.com.

This article originally appeared on Cincinnati Enquirer: Friday the 13th: Ohio couple turns 'unlucky day' into love story