I was late for my cousin's wedding, which is my usual way of arriving anywhere, so I ran all the way. I pushed open the doors of a big hall, found an empty seat near the back and started clapping with everyone else, as if I had been there for hours. People smiled at me and shook my hand. A woman even kissed me on both cheeks. I remember thinking, what a friendly family.
Then the groom's uncle came over, beaming. "You must be a friend of the groom," he said. "Please say a few words!" Before I could answer, he had put a microphone in my hand, and the whole room had turned to look at me. So I did the only thing I could think of: I improvised. I talked about love and sandwiches. I said that both are much better when you share them, and that the best ones always have a little surprise inside. Everybody laughed, and a few people cried, and I felt, for about ninety seconds, like a genuinely wise man.
Only when I sat down did I look properly at the bride, and I realized I had never seen her before in my life. It was the wrong wedding! My cousin's wedding was in the room next door, separated from my triumph by a single wall and a very thin sense of direction. I slipped out, ran there and gave exactly the same speech, which went even better the second time. Both families cheered, and I went home with two slices of cake, probably the only man in history to have been paid in cake for being lost.