Every {Bridesmaid} NEEDS This Pep Talk Before Making a Wedding Toast

I’m not trying to put more pressure on you, but you’re not just representing yourself out there. And you’re not just a reflection on the lovely couple. You’re representing all of us. Yes, betch. Of alllll the women at this wedding, the blushing bride chose you.

We’re all counting on you.

The whole crowd expects you to give the same Maid of Honor speech they’ve heard at every single wedding. They expect something overly sappy about how beautiful the bride is or how you’ve never seen her happier than when she’s with whoever his face. They’re expecting you to tell a lame, emotional story about how the bride was there for you during some breakup. And when you’re done, they’re all expecting you to cry and go back to your seat, never to be heard from again.

But guess what, sister? They’ve got you all wrong.

Because when their expectations go low, you go high. You listen to Michelle Obama. You know what the fuck time it is. Time to grab that microphone from the moderately drunk and overweight Best Man—the one who looks like a prematurely balding mathlete, but through the irrational power of the patriarchy, has the confidence of Zac Efron—and REPRESENT FOR YOUR PEOPLE.

You were fucking born to do this, girl.

But don’t worry. It may look hard, but it’s just in nailing the strategy. You got this. You want some help? I got you.

Set the right tone.

For the love of all things sacred, girl, keep it light. Ain’t nobody got time for your sob story. And the people are not here for the full-length biopic on Karen & Suzy BFF. They want to be entertained while they grab a quick breather from over-exerting on the dancefloor. Don’t make them think. Don’t make them cry—half of them are wearing mascara.

Make them smile. Make them laugh. And if that’s too hard, then I don’t know what to tell you. You have one job. Specifically, we’ve hired you to be an assassin. Now go out there and KILL.

Make fun of yourself.

OK, OK, fine. Jokes are difficult. And you’re not a comedian. I get it. But if you want to win people over to your side right away, give them a reason to like you. Let them inside. Give them permission to laugh at you. How? By taking a quick and merciless swipe at yourself.

It’s tempting to make fun of the bride or the groom first—after all, this speech is about and for them—but people need to know that you’re not just some loveless, bitter hag with an axe to grind. So, prove it. Show them you’re a funny, loveless, bitter hag. It’ll make all the difference.

Have some structure, dammit.

This is going to sound patronizing, but I swear to God it’s not. It’s just a polite reminder of what you learned in middle school language arts. OK, now that sounded patronizing. I’m sorry. But here’s the deal. While you’re trying to pull off these stunts and jokes, it’s easy to forget the basics.

Everything you write needs to have a clear beginning, middle, and ending. Don’t meander. Be purposeful. If you don’t know where you’re going, neither will your audience. And you need those impatient, hangry trolls on your side.

From a process perspective, just start by writing. Don’t filter yourself. Just go. Write everything down that comes to your head. The good, the bad, the stupid. Who cares? Nobody’s judging you. Just get your story and joke ideas on the page. It’ll be fun!

But then the real work begins. After you’ve got the main ideas on paper, make it tidy. Throw away the stuff you don’t need and focus on making it shine. And then, you have to come through and steamclean it all. Editing is the Lord’s work. I’m biased, but, like, do you really think Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote “I Have a Dream” in one take? Grab that red pen and a coffee and have your way.

Practice that shit aloud.

Read it a million times in the mirror. Look how dope you are. Listen to how smart and funny you are. Smooth out the problem areas. Get a rhythm. If you want to play like a champion, you have to practice like one.

Be confident.

Oh, you don’t like speaking in public? Then why did you accept this responsibility? I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but like, this is not confusing.

But don’t worry. I’ve been thinking about this one and came up with some coping strategies. Techniques. And I’m not talking about anti-anxiety medication or woosah breathing exercises. I’m talking about some real revolutionary creative artsy fartsy shit.

If you don’t like all eyes on you, I don’t know, bring a fucking puppet up there to give the speech. Take some inspiration from the Gorillaz. Tool. Sia and take on some avant garde stage persona. It’s a double bonus: No one will see you shaking or blushing or sweating AND you get to do a sick costume change.

Whatever it takes, chica. You’re a boss. Just deliver the goods.

Now, this ain’t my first rodeo.

And that’s why I’m telling you—advising you, as a compatriot—that going the safe route is for chumps. But you, m’lady? You’re a QUEEN. You’re about to ride side saddle. Bareback. Blindfolded.

And when you’re done slaying, you’ll get to decide which chaps you want to wear. Be as picky as you want, girl. The bride already had her moment. This one is yours.