To the beautiful bride and my best friend, Judy, and her super hot, now official hubby, Tom (who frankly, I never got along with and has weird political views). I am honored to make this toast.
I am soooo happy to be here today. In fact,
to prove your worth, it is costing me $200 in babysitter dollars to witness this
blessed event from morning to midnight. I have not stayed up this late in
years. Thank god my son's on Adderall. And bless his heart that he is off the "share" culture. The dress I am wearing will, however, be returned to Barney's on Monday. So please, ladies sipping rosé, watch your step.
But Tom and Judy, back to you. First of all, thank you
for asking me to write a speech about love and union. Who better to talk about
longevity than a twice-divorced mid-40s single mom with two baby daddies? I
am truly honored, if not flummoxed.
Let me start with this. When I think of two people who
belong together for the whole-life-commitment-marriage sham, it's not you
two. But don't let that get you down. I don't think any two people are truly
lifers. I do believe that we can easily convince ourselves of this, because, wow,
doesn't that just make life easier than thinking, "Oh crap, I may have fucked up" when you realize how stuck you really are? This feeling really hits home after you've been inappropriately Snapchatting with your kid's soccer coach. Just a theoretical example of course.
Marriage really is the merging of two filthy lives. How beautiful. I mean, hashtag blessed.
When I say stuck, I don't really mean stuck.
Yes, sperm and eggs make a genius glue called a baby. Those are pretty sticky.
But you will be stuck in so many other ways. By now, you may have merged bank
accounts, changed a last name, gotten a new driver's license (good for you Judy,
because that chin lipo did wonder's for your selfie) and this paper contract
sees to it that those massive unpaid college loans and gambling debts are now, alas,
shared. What a relief.
debt you spiraled into in your 20s when you had that massively tiny coke habit is now Judy's too. That's the kind of stuck I'm talking about. Marriage really is
the merging of two filthy lives. How beautiful. I mean, hashtag blessed.
#Doom and #Gloom, illustration by Emily Wagner
Before you go off and start making babies,
it's important to really know each other. Luckily you two have been living
together for years and, Tom, I am sure you have seen it all. I lived with Judy for a brief stint, after rehab and before the psych ward. So, don't go acting all surprised when Judy's vagina parts start falling out after
she's given birth a few times. She wants a big family.
And can you hear Big Ben from here? Because that ship may have sailed a few years ago. The money you will spend on IVF will come dangerously close to the inheritance you burned on Louboutins and liquor during your lesbo phase, Jude. and And please don't be too bummed to discover the hearty iPad porn addiction Tom will develop while your nurse those triplets. More to look forward to: Judy, your breasts will shape-shift
into demons and ruin every shirt you have and Tom will have a perpetually sore, chaffed penis.
Back to marriage and love. I'm not sure why
you wanted to get married. Ask yourself, deep down, do you really want to
be with the same person your entire life?
You have enough Williams Sonoma for a lifetime. But maintaining mental health while married? That's priceless.
I may not believe that we
have one partner for life, but heck, I have given it the college try. However,
I was an Expressive Dance Therapy major. Rigor will be required of you both. And vigilance. And therapists. Save your wedding checks for this. You have enough Williams Sonoma for a lifetime. But maintaining mental health while married? That's priceless. We
must not forget you will need a steady supply of gurus, spiritual guides and weed.
In the meantime, I am here for you both. Judy,
as my life long friend. And Tom, because Judy has
chosen you. Personally, I was not so hot for you when you two first hooked up on Tinder. I still would have swiped right, don't get me wrong.
I mean, I was hot for you,
yes, I would so bang you without even having to be totally drunk. But Judy is
Jew and you're not. And trust me, this never works. You will not understand her
inner emotional world, which is always in pain, bubbling with complaints and feels fat. You will not attempt to circumspect her need for smoked fish and Zabar's. You can however
try. Valiantly. In vain.
Speaking of vaginal prolapse and a
post-children weak pelvic floor, I just wet myself from all the joy. Please excuse me while I go
dry up. And do a few lines in the bathroom. With the bartender over there. Just kidding, my sponsor is right over there.
"Hey Elija, I'm cool!"
In the meantime, to the bride and groom,
Tom, that means, you're doomed. I mean,