Hi. I'm Bob. I'm 36, I sell commercial insurance, and I have a strange talent: people keep asking me to stand up at their weddings and talk. Best man six times, toastmaster or "the guy who does the toast" five more. First one was my brother Mike's wedding in June 1989, when I was 26 and terrified. Most recent was three weeks ago, for my oldest friend Steve, when I was 36 and only mostly terrified. Eleven toasts, ten years. I've been told I'm good at it. I've also been told I'm "the reason nobody else at the table wants to go after you," which I think is a compliment.

Somewhere around the seventh one, guys started calling me the week before their wedding, saying "my best man is panicking, can you talk to him?" And I'd talk to him, and it was always the same fifteen minutes of advice. So I typed it up. That's this page. It's free. Consider it my gift to the couple, which is good, because I'm out of picture frames to give.

One thing before we start. The toast is not about you. It is not your five minutes of fame, your comedy set, or your chance to finally say what you think of the groom. It is a gift you are giving two people on the best day of their lives, in front of everyone they love. If you keep that in your head the whole time, you will be fine, and most of the rules below will take care of themselves.

Every good wedding toast I've ever heard, mine included, has these five parts in this order. Write one or two sentences for each, read them in a row, and you have a toast. It's a form, like a sonnet or a haiku, and the form does most of the work for you.

1. Who you are. Name, how you know them. One sentence. (10 seconds)
2. The one story about the groom (or the bride, if you're on her side). Something that shows who he is. Funny is good, warm is better, both is best. (30-40 seconds)
3. The turn: when she showed up. How he changed, or what you noticed, or the moment you knew. This is the heart of it. This is the sentence people remember. (20-30 seconds)
4. The wish. One thing you hope for them. Keep it specific and keep it theirs; "may you always be as happy as you are today" is what the card in the gift shop says. (10-15 seconds)
5. The toast. "Please raise your glasses. To ___ and ___." (5 seconds)

Add it up: 90 seconds. See? The form knows.

The thing people miss is #3. They have the funny story and the wish and they go straight from one to the other, and it's like a joke with no punchline. The story about the groom is the setup. The bride is the punchline. She's what the story was leading to the whole time. When you get that turn right, the whole room goes "awww" at once, and that sound is the sound of a toast that worked.

This is the question I get more than any other, and I understand it, because the first time I stood up I discovered I had six hands and none of them knew where to go.

• Glass in one hand. Card in the other. That's it. That's the whole answer. Both hands are now busy and can't do anything stupid. Hold the glass at about belt height, not up by your chin, until the actual toast.
• If there's a microphone on a stand, leave it on the stand. Adjust it once, before you start, so it's at your mouth. Then don't touch it again. Don't tap it. Don't say "is this on." If it's a handheld, it goes in the card hand, and the card goes on the table in front of you where you can look down at it.
• No pockets. Hands in pockets reads as "I'd rather be anywhere else," and also jingles your keys.
• No pointing. Especially at the groom during the story. You may gesture toward the couple with an open hand when you get to the turn, like you're presenting them. That's the one gesture you need. One.
• Feet flat, shoulder width. Don't rock. Don't sway. Don't lean on the chair. If you feel yourself swaying, press your toes into the floor. Nobody can see it and it works.
• Look at the couple when you talk about them. Look at the room for the rest. Pick three friendly faces at three different tables and rotate. Don't look at the card except at the start of each part. You know this thing. You practiced in the bathroom.
• At the toast: glass up, eye level, say the names, hold it there for one second, drink. Then sit. Your hands are done. Congratulations.

Here are three of the eleven, written out the way I actually said them (from the index cards, which I keep in a shoebox, because my wife says I'm sentimental and she's right). Don't copy them. Copying somebody else's toast is like giving somebody else's gift. But look at how they're built. Same five parts, every time.

(Steve's dad is fine, by the way. He was at the wedding. He cried at the Valdosta part, which I did not expect, and neither did he.)

Names and weddings withheld, obviously. Every one of these happened at a wedding I was at, in the last ten years, and every one of them could have been prevented by a rule on this page. I offer them as a warning, and, let's be honest, as entertainment.

• The Twelve-Minute Toast. Best man had "a few things he wanted to say." He said all of them. Around minute seven the bride's father started clearing plates. Around minute ten the DJ, God bless him, faded up the music like it was the Oscars. The best man talked over it. (Rule 1.)
• The Ex. "And who could forget Michelle," the best man said, and the room found out that everyone could have forgotten Michelle very easily, and now no one ever would. The bride's smile didn't move for the rest of the toast. I have never seen a smile do that. (Rule 3.)
• The Uncle. Not the best man. The uncle, who had not been asked, who had the open bar to thank for his courage, and who took the microphone during the DJ's break to "say a few words about family." His words about family were about a dispute over a boat. The groom's mother left the room. (Rule 7, and also: don't grab the microphone if nobody asked you to.)
• The Napkin. A groomsman wrote his toast on a cocktail napkin at the reception, and the napkin was under his drink, and when he picked it up it came apart in his hands, and what he said, into the microphone, was "oh no." Then he said "uh." Then he said "to the couple!" and sat down. Honestly, it was short. (Rule 8.)
• The Feedback. The maid of honor put the microphone directly against the speaker. It made the noise. The noise went on for a while. A baby started crying. She waited it out, and then she gave a lovely toast, but nobody heard it, because the baby had views. (See "hands.")
• The Cancun Story. Rule 4 exists because of this one. I'm not going to describe it. I'll just say that the phrase "and then the second ambulance" was used, at a wedding, in front of a priest.
• The Groom's Roast. The best man had clearly watched a lot of comedy specials. Four minutes of jokes about the groom's weight, hairline, and job. The groom laughed, because he had to. His new wife did not have to and did not. There was no turn. There was no wish. It was a set, and it bombed, and the couple got no toast that day. That's the real damage. (Rules 2, 5, and the first paragraph on this page.)
• The Silent Toast. Mine. Toast #3, 1992. I stood up, I looked at 200 people, and for about eight seconds nothing came out. Eight seconds is a very long time. I'm told my mouth was open. Then I found the card in my pocket and read the first line and the rest came. The card is the reason I'm not on this list twice. (Rule 8, again, and forever.)

That's it. Ninety seconds, one story, no exes, say something true about the bride, raise the glass, sit down. You'll be fine. You'll be better than fine. And the day after, when somebody comes up and says "that was a really nice toast," you'll know exactly how good it feels, and you'll understand why I've done it eleven times.

If you've got a toast coming up and you want a second set of eyes, send it to me. I'll read it and tell you what to cut. It's usually the second story.

Around the neighborhood: Our Honeymoon in Paris (June 1999) (I gave the toast at that one, #10, and no I'm not putting it up, Kim would kill me) · Our Wedding (Well, Commitment Ceremony) · The Sonnet Workshop (the professor says a toast is a sonnet with a glass in it, and he's not wrong) · Love Letters from the War · Ballroom at Sixty (for the first dance, which is the other thing grooms panic about)