The husband and I got together when we were super young. So young, in fact, it’s a little amazing that we still like each other so darn much.
We met freshman orientation week, and other than one moment of temporary insanity on his part, we have been together ever since.
And it’s mostly because of a can of soup.
I’ve never claimed to be able to cook. In most cases, I’m considered a hazard. Since I spend so much of my time studiously trying to avoid anything kitchen-ish, I don’t usually travel with kitchen things, and this habit started all the way back in college. I had a full meal plan and only a mini-fridge in my room. So other than cereal and one unfortunate run in with a jiffy pop, I let the cafeteria ladies do the cooking.
Until my boyfriend got sick. He got one of those throat-rattling, fever-inducing colds that seem to thrive in college dorms and cast houses.
There was nothing the campus health clinic could really do for him, so he just had to wait it out, suffering in his room.
I knew that he was feeling awful, so I decided to bring him a can of soup from my emergency supplies. I even had a bowl and a spoon! And they were clean!
So I grabbed my soup and headed to the boys’ dorm. My then-boyfriend/now-husband limped and dragged himself outside to meet me since I wasn’t able to go in without an escort.
After giving the appropriate sympathy, I proudly handed him the soup, spoon, and bowl.
He looked at it all confused for a second before saying, “Do you have a can opener I can borrow?”
Yep. Hadn’t even thought of the fact that he would need a can opener.
But at that point, it really didn’t matter. He was sick, and I had tried to take care of him. And that’s when he knew I would show up with a useless can of soup whenever he needed me.
I didn’t know how much that can of soup mattered until he mentioned it in our wedding vows. It was when he knew he loved me.
And for the record, he did manage to borrow a can opener from someone in his dorm.