Wedding Gift: A Toast To You Poem by Kevin Mireles

So you're announcing a wedding, huh? Hold up—when you mess up, you don't just slip; you crash the whole system. No 'little‑oops' for you, only catastrophic failures—except when it comes to your heart and your uncanny talent for serving up the unvarnished truth. Even divine intervention would throw up its hands at this point.

Does the groom even realize what he's signing up for? Does he really know the woman he's about to marry?

You've been lobbying for a ring on your finger since before I even knew your name. Your mother gently warned you that ending life single would make you a 'failure'—not to the world, but to her and, by extension, to yourself. Ever since that lecture, you've dropped hints after every first date about the exact cut of diamond you'd like, even carting around Tiffany's catalogues like a love‑life cheat sheet. The audience nods, the smile is polite, and when the moment arrives they vanish—no applause, no encore.

Don't try to tell me you've been romancing magicians all along; the men you've dated have been about as mystical as a spreadsheet. The 'Mr. Ed' types were perfectly sane, while 'Miss Boo‑Foo' was just you, hopping from one boyfriend to the next because, frankly, the brand of ring doesn't matter. Whether it's Bu Fu LeFool or some other gentleman, you'll take the bling, the bachelorette night, and the inevitable blackout that ends with you 'getting friendly' with a random bar patron.

Congrats on finding a gullible sap to fall for your well‑rehearsed act. I feel sorry for him—he's about to discover that his future wife is a plastic‑surgery‑obsessed, vindictive, half‑truth‑spitting, black‑widow‑type who has zero originality. When the divorce papers land, he'll probably think, 'Damn, Mr. Mireles, you were right! '