Jean married the love of her life at age 21. She would do anything for the amazing man with bright blue eyes. Even make him oatmeal. She hated the stuff herself, but she made it every morning, just like his mother always had. John ate every drop and then Jean cleaned the icky residue from the bowls while John left for his navy ship. Thus went the first year of their marriage, 1945.
Until one day, he didn’t eat the oatmeal.
“What about trying something new today?” John asked his wife.
She raised her eyebrows and said, “Such as?”
John scrunched up his nose. “Anything. Just not oatmeal.”
“You’re getting tired of oatmeal?” Jean could hardly believe it.
“Maybe that,” he said. “Or maybe I’ve never liked it.”
“Then why have you eaten it every day for the past year?”
“Because you made it for me every day for the past year. Besides, I thought you loved oatmeal!”
“I love it about as much as you do–not at all!”
That was the last morning Jean ever made him oatmeal.
Sixty seven years later they had a granddaughter who enjoyed this story as a newlywed herself, and she was full of pride for their remarkable love.