Toastmaster

There are good reasons not to eat a lot of cake. It's, like, 96% sugar. It makes me hyper. But yesterday, at my cousin Dan and his fiance Samantha's engagement party/shower/big hoo-ha, I learned another reason not to eat too much cake.

 I was snarfing down some yellow cake when everybody gathered in the dining room and popped champagne and poured it into glasses. Someone hands one to me, and I'm sitting in my chair, trying to wolf down my cake so I can get to the champagne.

Moments after I put the last, giant bite of cake into my mouth, someone yells out...

"Phil! Toast!"

Toast? How did I get roped into saying the toast? I've never made a toast in my life. Nobody talked to me about this beforehand.

As I wonder about the criteria that went into selecting me as the toastmaster (oldest of the cousins, only person at the party who's an MFA candidate, didn't say "Not It" in time), I try hard to digest my last bite of cake while simultaneously thinking of something intelligent to say that won't embarrass Dan, Samantha or myself.

Seconds tick away.

Finally, I feel like I can say something without choking, and I blurt out...

"To a happy and prosperous marriage."

I cringe. I feel like the term "prosperous" is better saved for the celebration of a corporate acquisition or new job.

But I look up. Applause. I've done it. I've made a successful toast. At least I think -- nobody pulled me aside and said, "What the fuck was that?"

Talk about baptism by fire. Anyway, now I know, it never hurts to eat a little less cake.