Hello everyone, a toast!
I’m the Maid of Honor, which means that I am expected to make a spectacular toast, inside of a giant room, filled mostly with people I have never met. Hence the reason I just downed an entire bottle of champagne.
Thank you for being here on this special day. I can’t feel my face.
Aren’t they a cute couple? They look so in love. They probably wake up spooning, too in love to acknowledge the fact that her entire back is drenched in sweat and his arm has been asleep for so long it may need to be amputated. They laugh, cuddle, and tickle so much they’ve lost all their friends. This bliss will last for a while.
Until one day, dear bride …
… you’re going to buy yourself a bag of cinnamon sugar almonds and you’ll love those cinnamon sugar almonds so much, you’ll place them in a special cupboard where you will enjoy and savor each one, taking great care to make them last. Soon after, you’ll walk into the kitchen just in time to see your sweet husband dumping all of said cinnamon sugar almonds into his mouth, straight from the bag because he couldn’t give a crap about your beloved cinnamon sugar almonds (or your feelings).
In a blind rage, you’ll grab a rolling pin out of instinct to defend those you love, and he’ll be like, “You should have bought two bags then!” and you’ll be like, “It’s $12 for a small bag!” and he’ll be like, “Damn, why are you buying $12 almonds?!” and you’ll be like, “Well isn’t that Mr. Amazon Prime calling the kettle black?” and he’ll say, “Oh that reminds me, did you pick me up any deodorant?” and you’ll be like, “Oh crap, sorry — I totally forgot,” and he’ll say, “Can I use yours? I’ll go to the store today and get some,” and you’ll be like, “Sure, but don’t leave your armpit hairs in it,” and then he’ll say, “Can I get you anything else while I’m at the store?” and you’ll say, “Cinnamon sugar almonds.” And then your marriage will come full circle.
Until one day, dear groom …
… you’ll be getting cozy on the couch after a long, hard day and your wife will walk in and have an “edge” about her. It’s an edge you will know well — it’s that special time of the month when she says what she feels and doesn’t give a crap about what you have to say about it. She might cry, too, if it feels right. (And it usually does, thank you very much.)
She’ll crawl up next to you on the couch and get into the fetal position, steal most of your blanket, and say, “Babe? I’m out of tampons,” and you’ll say, “Okaaay, what does that have to do with me?” and she’ll say, “Well, I need you go to the store and get some tampons. And ice cream,” and you’ll say, “No! Please no. I’m in my pajamas, and besides, there are 10,512 different types and brands of tampons. I’ll pick the wrong one, and I’ll come home and you’ll be pissed, and then I’ll get pissed, and we’ll fight, and then I’ll have to sleep on the couch and you know my back hurts when I sleep on the couch!” Then she’ll say, “I’ll write down exactly the kind of tampons I need and the kind of ice cream. You’ll be fine, you’re the smartest man I’ve ever known,” and you’ll say, “Flattering me will literally get you nowhere, but do you really think I’m the smartest man you’ve ever known?” To which she’ll answer, “Please. Go get my tampons. I can’t, if I move I’m dangerously close to ruining another good pair of underwear. Go!”
And then you’ll have to get dressed and put on your coat and head out in the the freezing winter weather to try and find her Kotex Super Plus, 48 count. After about two hours of searching (plus asking a 15-year-old girl to help), you’ll come home with the desired tampons and two pints of ice cream. And you’ll get nestled into the couch with your very own pint of mint chip cookie that you were in the mood for anyway, so in some ways, this all worked out in your favor. Until she decides that she likes your flavor better and you’re forced to switch, which really sucks. But luckily, she gets full and only eats half of her pint and gives you the rest. So, you end up benefitting greatly to her period in the end and your marriage comes full circle.
Marriage is hard work. There’s compromise. Tense talks about money and raising children. Sacrifices. Real bad breath in the mornings. There’s selfishness and selflessness and arguments and, at times, the lack of human decency to replace an empty toilet paper roll.
But there’s also Sunday Walking Dead and popcorn nights. Companionship. Loyalty. Someone who has seen your eye crusties and still wants to take you to bed. Best friendship. Laughter until your ribs hurt. Ooey gooey love. Generosity. Spiritual bonds and someone who will lovingly cheat on their diet with you.
There really is no secret to a healthy lasting marriage, but may I recommend this: Don’t eat all the cinnamon sugar almonds. Whatever you do.
Now let’s toast! To the bride and groom — everlasting love and closets stocked with boxes and boxes of tampons!
I’m Anna Lind Thomas and this is why you shouldn’t ask me to be your maid of honor.