Slice Of Life
You know, I was going to step up here, open my piece of paper, and begin reading: "Ladies and Gentlemen. If elected, I plan to make some serious changes. To aid the environment, I promise to stop everyone in Hull from going to the toilet. That'll teach them."
I was then going to pause, to look down at my paper, mumble something about that being next week, flip it over, and begin the real speech.
I'm not going to do that.
The reason I'm not going to do that is because, in my foolish and misspent youth, last weekend, I told Pete about this plan, and he stole my joke. That's right, on my wedding day, as my best man, he stole my best joke.
Pete, apparently we can't take you anywhere. You're like if Calvin was raised Amish.
So, lacking a joke, I'm afraid I'm simply going to have to go back to the unrelenting, unbroken absolute seriousness that I'm so well-known for amongst everyone here.
A writer named Chris Onstad said recently, and I'm paraphrasing, that marriage is a terrifying prospect because the best case, the best *possible* result, is that you're going to spend the rest of your life with this one person, grow up, grow old, and die together. You're promising to do this, and after 50 years, what's left? What will you have to show for it?
I read that, and I said "Wow. I get to spend the next 50 years with this person? I get to grow up, grow old, and die together with the most wonderful woman in the world? Where do I sign up?"
You don't actually have to answer that question, I already found that out on my own.
So here we are, almost at the end of the festivities. Frances, I love you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I propose the last toast of the day: To the next 50 years, and more.
[drink]
Although, for the record? I've kept the packaging. If I don't get the full 50, you're going back to the shop, and I'm getting a refund.
I was then going to pause, to look down at my paper, mumble something about that being next week, flip it over, and begin the real speech.
I'm not going to do that.
The reason I'm not going to do that is because, in my foolish and misspent youth, last weekend, I told Pete about this plan, and he stole my joke. That's right, on my wedding day, as my best man, he stole my best joke.
Pete, apparently we can't take you anywhere. You're like if Calvin was raised Amish.
So, lacking a joke, I'm afraid I'm simply going to have to go back to the unrelenting, unbroken absolute seriousness that I'm so well-known for amongst everyone here.
A writer named Chris Onstad said recently, and I'm paraphrasing, that marriage is a terrifying prospect because the best case, the best *possible* result, is that you're going to spend the rest of your life with this one person, grow up, grow old, and die together. You're promising to do this, and after 50 years, what's left? What will you have to show for it?
I read that, and I said "Wow. I get to spend the next 50 years with this person? I get to grow up, grow old, and die together with the most wonderful woman in the world? Where do I sign up?"
You don't actually have to answer that question, I already found that out on my own.
So here we are, almost at the end of the festivities. Frances, I love you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I propose the last toast of the day: To the next 50 years, and more.
[drink]
Although, for the record? I've kept the packaging. If I don't get the full 50, you're going back to the shop, and I'm getting a refund.