The Best Best Man Speech

I have the happiest wedding in my barkada, and I owe it to my best man. He singlehandedly saved the wedding from the land of nightmare and turned it into a moment where I think everyone was glad to be alive (or at least glad to be there at that point in time).Of course I have the only wedding in my barkada, but I don’t think that matters at the moment.

***

My best friend, my best man, though he couldn’t arrange my stag, walked before he should during the processional, and took the role of maid of honor (he was the one fixing my wife’s train while we were kneeling), gave the best best man speech in living memory.

I guess he felt he had something to prove. I had the worst stag party in history. The best man wasn’t there, I didn’t get drunk, and my groomsmen used all the money to get themselves laid. So I reschedule the stag party but he couldn’t do anything because his girlfriend of five years calls and asks him to do errands. Far be it for me to stand in the way of love.

***

He lifted the first part of his speech from what he said in a video some friends made but the video didn’t make it on time. The video was a quasi-documentary on how I became We. It was mostly corny and mostly cheesy but my friends didn’t think so, so I guess it wasn’t.

But I digress.

My wedding could’ve been a disaster. There were more people at the ceremony than there were at the reception. Nothing went right at the ceremony. The whole night felt like one blooper after another, until my best friend began his speech.

He talked about everything: from when we first met until about the time I met my wife, all. He made sure that no one in the crowd had any illusions about me. He is, after all, my best friend.

Five minutes after he began, he had the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand, and by the time he was done, the booboos of the afternoon were a distant memory.

The best part is he winged it. He winged ALL of it. He gave me the best wedding gift that night.

Thanks, dude. I love you. I owe you another one.

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