Not Exactly The Best Man

Some links before we get ourselves started today. Norma had a new notion at her blog and a movie review. Parsnip had a Square Dog Friday.  Eve had a writing prompt. Shelly had a passage from her online novel. Ivy had a Friday question. And Lorelei had a reflective post.

Now then, every once in awhile I like to write one of these passages, a speech given at either a wedding or a funeral... one of these "did I just write that" sort of things involving entirely inappropriate revelations. Enjoy!

Hello, ladies and gentlemen, this is about that time in the evening when it’s time for speeches. And as best man, it falls to me to get things underway. In these occasions, it’s often true that best men tend to spend a few minutes teasing the groom and making off colour remarks before suggesting a toast. We’ll get to all that, of course, so George, just a warning, you might end up regretting asking me to be your best man.

I’ve known George for years. We’ve gone all the way back to college years when we were chasing skirts and going on pub crawls and somehow managing to bluff our way through papers and exams. Of course our first priority was chasing skirts. There never seemed to be an end to it. George, you remember that weekend with the Swedish quadruplets and their bikinis? I don’t know about you, but keeping track of which of them was which could pose quite a challenge.

Those were good years. George and I were buddies, but also in perpetual competition with each other as to how many times we could score. And I don’t mean playing rugby either. Of course it didn’t always work. I still remember George making a pass at Alicia Meriwether in our final year. It turns out that Alicia was exclusively into women, so neither of us stood a chance where she was concerned. Come to think of it, George, why didn’t we take her on in perpetual competition to see who could score the most? Oh, now don’t look at me like that, Reverend Gareth, you were young once, right?

So as it turns out we were hounds in our college days. Of course, being hounds isn’t that bad a thing. We got ourselves laid on a regular basis, managed to somehow avoid any of those nasty STDs, and as far as I know, neither of us ever got any woman pregnant. Thank God for the pill and condoms. Reverend, please, don’t huff and puff while I’m in the middle of my speech.

Well, after college we stayed friends. I went into medicine, George went into the law. We kept being the proverbial hounds, chasing any girl in sight. I mean, it was in our nature. Like that story of the scorpion and the frog at a river. The scorpion asks the frog to carry it across the river, the frog says no, that he’ll sting the frog, and the scorpion promises not to. Halfway across, the scorpion stings the frog, and as they’re both sliding down under the water to drown, the frog asks, “why?” And the scorpion says, “it’s in my nature.” Well, George and I were both scorpions. Shagging every woman in sight was in our nature. Come now, Reverend, haven’t you used that fable in a sermon?

Every once in awhile George had himself some close calls. He was carrying on with the much younger wife of an MP for awhile. They were having a grand time one weekend, he and Francesca thought the old man was in London, and from what George said, they were right in the middle of that proverbial happy moment when they heard him come in downstairs. George was grabbing his clothes, out the window, and across the lawn getting dressed as he went. He was just lucky he didn’t leave anything behind. Like a wallet. George has always fallen about laughing telling that story. Fortunately the MP himself is no longer with us- he died happy from what I’ve heard- and Francesca’s a happily wealthy widow carrying on with what the Yanks would call a pool boy.

Of course there comes a time when people need to move on and, well, grow up. I mean, we’re both thirty two now. Could you imagine us still chasing skirts at sixty or seventy? I certainly wouldn’t want to see that. Which is what brings us to Meryl.

Meryl, you came into George’s life at just the right time. You opened his eyes into a whole different way of looking at the world. You gave him a reason to come home at night instead of being a tomcat out on the town all the time. You were the proverbial tonic to his gin. Wait a minute... that expression probably doesn’t fit the bill.

What I’m saying is that you got George to finally start thinking of others. This is not an easy thing for a lawyer to do, of course. He fell head over heels in love with you, totally besotted, stars in the eyes kind of love. And that’s a great thing. I mean, he stopped being a hound, committed himself exclusively to one woman, started being a better man. And that’s all on you.

See, Reverend? This whole speech wasn’t going to be some endless recounting by the best man about previous sexual conquests by the groom. You know, you could stop looking so disapproving. You remind me of my father.

Where was I? Oh, yes. George finally found the woman of his dreams, settled down for a life of domestic bliss, and was ready to be a responsible married man.

Well, at least until the bachelor party.

George, I don’t know about you, but honestly, having a threesome with Meryl's sister and the maid of honour two nights before the wedding? That’s pretty low, even for hounds like the two of us.

I’d wait until after the honeymoon.