Toasted

Hi everyone, I’m Donna. When Lori, I call her Lori, though once we graduated from Hillsburg High, she started calling herself “Lauren,” asked me to be her maid-of-honor, I wasn’t like most girls: quizzing her about colors and dresses, designers, and cuts. I wondered how I was going to capture our unforgettable friendship since 3^rd grade in a speech. I didn’t want to bore a room full of people or embarrass anybody. So I made a deal with myself which I’m gonna let you in on. I promise not to do the first if you let me off the hook if I accidentally do the second. Deal?

First, shout-outs to the staff at this beautiful venue who I just know have Jesus in the kitchen. This merlot tasted like wino’s delight during cocktail hour. I’m cute now, but I’m not too siditty to admit I’m well acquainted with wine out of a box.  Lauren and me guzzled plenty of that sh… stuff at Florida State when I was broke and her dad was teaching her about making her own way. So when we walked in, I thought her dad, Uncle Rog was being tight as his wife’s, Aunt Marj’s forehead. But after a few drinks, and I’mma take another sip now just to make sure I’m not lying… this place definitely got Jesus in the kitchen making the wine.

Lori and Hank. Hank and Lori. What can I say?

 Guys, have you ever seen a more gorgeous bride and groom? Come on, give it up for them. Louder! Ooh! It’s hot in here.

So before there was a Lori and Hank, there was Lori and Donna. We had all the same classes through middle school. At Hillsburg, I sat behind her in Band in the row with the other second flutes. Was her Maria understudy in “West Side Story.” Okay, so some of y’all just flashed a look. Don’t feel bad for me. I didn’t have the stress of being the lead on stage to a packed auditorium for an entire weekend. I didn’t have to be interviewed by the community newspaper. As an alternate Jet or Shark, I had two reasons to buy high-top black Converses.

 And Tony was, you guessed it, Hank. Who knew his and Lori’s “Somewhere” duet, the one I helped him learn, would be prophetic? Can somebody please turn up the a/c? Thanks.

Then there was Donna and Hank. No worries, y’all. The rule is, in Lori’s playbook anyway, as long as it happened before senior year, it’s a kiddie crush and doesn’t count. This was junior year. The end. Before summer vacation. Summer vacation at the same camp Lori and I always went to. Lauren, Lori, no blushes, allowed, Gurl, please. It’s been behind us. 

Feel free to sip, everybody. I’m not one of those snooty toasters, toastmasters, or is it toast pr-proposers? I’ll allow you to drink your “here-heres” as we go along. In increments. On a continuum. Lori, we know how to do this, right, gurl? Little by little? You know, sort of how you moved in on Hank?

           Oh, come on. Why y’all so stuffy? And stop knocking those glasses. It’s giving me a headache. The happy, Hanky couple has been swallowing each other’s tongues all night. A few moments eating humble pie won’t kill ‘em. Damn, it’s hot.

           So Lori’s such a sweetie. Always looked out for me. She was friends with everybody in our schools, even the thugs. She never hung with them, mind you, but like the rest of the neighborhood, she stunned them with her knockout looks and charm. Even the predicted dropouts fawned over her smarts.

Guys would come up to her and lose their trend of thought, stand there with their mouths open, and totally forget their rap when Lori glanced them with her green-amber eyes. Also totally forget about the girl with the glasses who helped them nail the male lead in the school musical. I need me some of this wine at home. Gives me more wit than a Jimmy Fallon monologue.

So where was I? Oh yeah. Goes to follow anybody who was tight with Lori was automatically protected, if you know what I mean.

One girl called me pigeon chest when we were in the locker room after P.E. See now, half the room just looked at my boobs. Don’t hate because I can still fit into my high school t-shirt after ten years, thank you very much.

Well, not-having-it Lori flashed her naturally long, non-extension braids and gave the heifer that look. Y’all know which one I’m talkin’ bout. The girl, we’ll call Chester for the purposes of this memory, completely backed off. Like a vampire looking at crucifixes through a Tiffany’s display.

           And you know, Lori’s stayed sweet all these years. Every moment til today. Can I borrow that? I know it’s for the happy couple, with a fat check inserted, but I’m sweating into my ruched bodice down into my micro-fibered Spanx and need to fan. Promise I’ll give it back. My throat’s dry and that roasted Cornish hen and fingerling potatoes, emphasis on the ling, didn’t help. I need another sip.

What was I saying? Yeah, so all you have to do is look at the dresses Lori chose for me and my companions to see the love. No frill-fest in pea green for her girls, uh-uh. I’m just gonna come out and declare, we are fii-ine! Come on, girls, say it like you mean it. We… are… fine! Which we should damn, double damn well be… Lori loved us so much she couldn’t pick an $89.00 faux chiffon frock from Lulus. $360.00 out, not including the Jimmy Choos chewing on my corns, and I’ll still have to dance barefoot with the hem in my hands.

Available guys out there, please overlook my glasses. Couldn’t get new contacts in time because of my bridesmaid, best friend, second-best, obligations. And be kind to my feet when you still can’t catch the count on “The Electric Slide.”

 So family, friends, loved ones of Mr. and Mrs. Hank and Lauren Smith. I think I’ve kept my promise. Judging by your faces, this toast was anything but boring. Everyone, please raise your glasses with me. Sh… sugar it’s hot!

In honor of our hosts and my lifelong friendship with Lori. I am so damn fine. So damn hot. Damn you, Hank. I mean so damn happy for you! Congratulations!