“Sure. ‘Bringing You Soup’.”

A million years ago when I had first started dating hippy Timmy (right before sophomore year of college) I caught this terrible case of viral bronchitis where it felt like someone was choking me. I had no idea what is was and my parents were out of town, and I was scared.

Let me repeat the most crucial part: my parents were out of town. My high school buddies were absolutely appalled that I didn’t want to have a party. Keep in mind that these were the days when you just trashed a person’s house and left the mess for the host – or at least, my friends did. I refused. They called me selfish. I called them assholes. They called me a hypocrite.

“What? What the hell?” I asked.

“Your boyfriend was over last night and he’s coming over tonight!”

“So?”

“He’s like 24! He can buy us beer! You’re just drinking and making out! That’s selfish!”

“He is not buying me beer, asshole! I’m sick! He’s rubbing my back and bringing me soup!”

“Oh yeah. Sure. ‘Bringing you soup’. Is that what you’re calling it these days?”

This last weekend I hung out with all those old friends (who I would have punched if they brought this up – still pissed) and now I have a super horrible cold and my boyfriend insisted on bringing over some TheraFlu and soup and it reminded me of this.

Adam, who is a father of 3 and extremely conservative now, will still laugh his ass off every time I mention soup. My friends are jerks. I love them.

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