Maid of honor speech examples for your best friend

Harper and I met because her dog stole my dog's ball and would not give it back.

It was a Saturday morning at the dog park on Cedar Street, three years ago. Her beagle, Pickles, took Bruno's tennis ball and ran laps with it for forty minutes. Harper chased him the whole time, apologizing to me every time she ran past. By the fifth lap we were laughing too hard to catch anybody.

I'm Carmen. I was thirty-one and new in town, and I'd read that it's hard to make friends as a grown-up. It is, unless your dog does it for you.

We started meeting every Saturday at nine. Then Saturdays and Wednesdays. Harper got me through a breakup on the bench by the water fountain, and I sat with her in a vet's waiting room at midnight while Pickles had his surgery.

Declan, the first time Harper brought you to the park, Pickles stole your sandwich. You didn't chase him. You sat down on the grass and waited, and a few minutes later he came back and lay down across your feet. Harper looked over at me, and I knew.

Harper, I went to that park to find a friend for my dog. I found one for me.

Please raise your glasses to Harper and Declan, and to Pickles, who started all of this.

The first time I saw Tori, she was dressed as a hot dog.

We were seventeen, and we'd both taken the worst summer job in town: the hot dog race at the minor league ballpark, every home game, seventh inning. She was Ketchup. I was Mustard. I'm Steph, and I lost to Tori about forty times that summer.

Here's what the crowd never knew. The race was fixed. Relish was supposed to win most nights, because Relish was the owner's nephew. Tori found out in the first week, and she was furious on behalf of every kid in the stands who'd picked a hot dog and screamed for it.

So on the last night of the summer, she stopped a few feet from the finish line and waited for me, and we crossed it together, holding hands, in foam. We both got fired. It was the best night of the whole job.

That's Tori. She'll give up a win if it means somebody else gets one.

Mason, on your third date she took you to a game at that same ballpark. When the hot dog race came on, you stood up and cheered for Ketchup the whole way round, the only grown man in your section doing it. Ketchup lost. You cheered anyway. She texted me from the stands: "He picked Ketchup."

Tori, you've been cheering for everybody else for as long as I've known you. Tonight the whole room is cheering for you.

Please raise your glasses to Tori and Mason.

On my phone right now, there are four thousand one hundred and twelve voice memos from Naomi. I counted on the plane.

I'm Hallie. Naomi and I met in the second week of college, and for the nine years since, we've lived in different time zones. She went to Seattle, I went to Atlanta, and we found out fast that phone calls don't work when one of you is eating breakfast and the other one is making dinner. So we started leaving voice memos. Long ones. One she sent from a grocery store parking lot runs twenty-two minutes, and it's mostly about cheese.

I heard about her first job the morning after she got it. I heard about the grad school that said no from her car, in a memo that was mostly silence, and I sent one back that was mostly silence too. It's one of the best conversations we've ever had, and neither of us said a word.

Two years ago I got a memo that started, "Okay. Don't get excited." It was about Kenji. It was nine minutes long, and she was very excited.

Kenji, a few months later I got a voice memo from you. We'd never met. You said, "Hi, it's Kenji. Naomi says you're the one to ask. What's her favorite cake?" It's lemon. Look at the cake table.

Naomi, for nine years I've heard everything three hours late. Tonight I'm right here, on time.

Please raise your glasses to Naomi and Kenji.

Ruby and I once went a whole year without speaking, and I've been told that's not something you bring up at a wedding. I'm bringing it up anyway, because it's my favorite story about her.

I'm Marisa. We'd been best friends since sixth grade. Then, at twenty-four, we moved in together, which I don't recommend. We fought about the dishes, and then about everything that wasn't the dishes, and I moved out on a Sunday. Neither of us called.

For a year I heard about her life from other people: her new job, her new apartment, her first half marathon. Every time, I wanted to text her. Every time, I didn't.

On my birthday, there was a box on my doorstep. Inside was the blue mug I'd left behind, the one I drank from every morning in that apartment. The handle had broken off. She'd glued it back on, crooked, and there was a note: "I broke this the day you left. I'm sorry about all of it."

I called her from the doorstep, and we talked for three hours. We haven't gone a week without talking since.

Felipe, the first time I came to your place, there was a kitchen chair with one short leg, wrapped in so much tape it looked like it was wearing a cast. Ruby had broken it. She wanted to throw it out, and you wouldn't let her. You said, "It still works. We'll fix it." You two keep things. I'm very glad she kept me.

Ruby, I still drink my coffee out of that mug every morning. It leaks a little. I'm keeping it.

Please raise your glasses to Ruby and Felipe.

The first time I met Tamsin, she was lying on top of me in a collapsed tent.

It was Glastonbury, 2011, it was raining sideways, and at about two in the morning the wind picked up her tent, with Tamsin still inside, and dropped it on mine. I'm Bex. I was trapped under two tents and a girl from Swindon I'd never met, and her first words to me were, "Sorry. Have you got any crisps?"

I had crisps. We shared them in the dark for an hour whilst her mates wandered round looking for her. By the time they found us, we'd swapped numbers and planned next year.

We've been back every year it's been on since. She has never once pitched a tent properly. She's also come to my graduation, my nan's ninetieth and every single one of my house moves, and she's turned up to all of them with crisps.

Callum, the first time Tamsin took you camping, you spent forty minutes pegging her tent down in the rain, then went round and did everyone else's as well. Nobody asked you to. She rang me from inside it and said, "Bex, it's not moving. I think I'm going to marry him."

Tamsin, it took thirty-odd years, but you've found someone who'll stop you blowing away. I've brought crisps, just in case.

Ladies and gentlemen, would you please be upstanding and raise your glasses to Tamsin and Callum.

I'll keep this short, because Josie's already crying and I haven't said anything yet.

I'm Nell. When we were eight, Josie and I had walkie-talkies, one in each of our houses, three doors apart. Every night at nine she said, "Over and out," and I said it back.

Wyatt, she told you about them on your first date. Last Christmas you bought us a new pair. One's at your place, one's at mine. I'm told it's for emergencies.

To Josie and Wyatt. Over and out.