Funny Wedding Vows for Him (2 Minutes)

The vows

Tobias, two years ago you bought a label maker, and I made fun of you for a week. Then I opened our freezer and found a container labeled "Soup, March, Good." The one behind it said "Soup, April, Fine." You'd been rating soup. Privately. For months.

That's when I knew I was marrying a man with a system.

I promise to stop touching the thermostat the second you leave the room, and to admit it when you ask, at least half the time. I'll read the instructions before I build the next bookshelf, or I'll let you read them to me out loud, which you love. I will never again say a place is "basically on the way" when it's forty minutes in the opposite direction.

I'll go to all of cousin Ruben's trivia nights. When it's the history round, I'll pretend I don't know the answers, because that's your round.

And I'll keep making the soup. Even the April soup.

Here's the part I can't joke about. Last spring, when my dad was in the hospital, you drove me there every night and sat in that awful plastic chair until visiting hours ended. You never once looked at your phone. I noticed. I'm always going to notice.

I want to be that steady for you, every time you need it.

Fifty years from now, if anybody puts a label on us, I hope it just says Good.

Why it works: The laughs come from true habits of his, so the jokes are affectionate and nobody gets embarrassed. The turn to the hospital chair is short and has no setup, which is why it lands. The last line brings the soup label back and makes it mean something.