I was preparing some notes for our upcoming Burns' Night dinner when I found the Toast to the Lassies I delivered last year at the Saint Andrew's Society of jacksonville Burns Supper.

I hope you get a laugh and feel free to plagiarize!

Toast to the Lassies

When I was asked to give the “Toast to the Lassies” I was told it was to be “light-hearted” and “humorous”… which explains why all the married gentlemen are sitting out there in the audience and I’m standing up here.

I was a bit intimidated at doing this toast. I’m not married. What I don’t know about women could fill libraries. So I designed a series of experiments intended to allow me to experience, insofar as it is possible, what it’s like to be married.

• I have been informed that “ecru” is not white; that “taupe” is not brown; and that “mauve” is not purple. I’m still fuzzy on “chartreuse.” Sometimes it’s green, sometimes it’s yellow. It’s just not right.

• I went to Walgreens and asked the lady behind the counter where to find queen-size sheer-to-waist pantyhose in “nude.” I don’t know why they have to be sheer all the way to the waist. I’m sure there is a reason.

• I drove a minivan. In public.

• I moved my living room furniture around, arranging it six different ways before putting it back the way it was originally. The room is just wrong for that couch.

• I went to the mall and stood for a time in several stores while holding a purse, as if waiting for someone. I think I stood out a bit at Abercrombie and Fitch. I would have stayed longer at Victoria’s Secret, but the officer insisted that I leave.

When I explained what I was doing, a neighbor lady helped by coming to my house and making a list of thing that I should repair, replace, improve or beautify. When Saturday came the list slipped my mind and I spent the day drinking beer and watching television. When my neighbor stopped by to check on my progress, she told me that I was already behaving like a married man.

Once I had achieved the proper state of mind, I had to think of something to talk about. I started by looking for a bit of Burns’ poetry that would be relevant. I found this:

Epitaph On A Henpecked Squire

As father Adam first was fool'd,
A case that's still too common,
Here lies a man a woman rul'd:
The Devil ruled the woman.
On second though, perhaps that’s not relevant after all…..

You might think that it’s just a matter of getting up and saying nice things about ladies. Not so. If experience has taught me anything it is that even the most sincere and heartfelt compliment can be taken the wrong way.
It happened to a friend of mine who was preparing to go out with his wife to a Christmas party last month. She was looking into the mirror and wasn’t pleased by what she saw. “My hair is frizzy. I have bags under my eyes. I have frown lines.” She turned to my friend and said, “I want you to say something nice about me, right now!” Now…what my friend intended to say was “ Your sparkling green eyes are as beautiful today as the day I met you!” What he actually said was “Your eyes are perfect!”

Fortunatley, my friend is married to one of the genlest, most forgiving souls, I have ever encountered. His doctors say he's likely to make a complete recovery in time.

Burns knew how a compliment could go wrong. The whole story of Tam O’ Shanter is based on that idea. I’m sure you all know the story: Tam had a few pints with the lads at the pub, was on his way home late at night when he ran afoul of a coven of witches, and barely escaped with his life.
Now, on a side note, if Tam had listened to his wife, he’d never have gotten into that mess:

O Tam, had'st thou but been sae wise,
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;

That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was nae sober;
That ilka melder wi' the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;

That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;

That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.

She prophesied, that, late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon,

Or catche'd wi' warlocks in the mirk
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. Now, it’s well known that we gentlemen are eager to embrace constructive criticism on those rare occasions when it is warranted; so it astounds me that Tam chose to go to the pub that night after receiving such advice; delivered, as it no doubt was, in the soothing, dulcet tones of loving admonition. Burns apparently felt the same way:

Ah! gentle dames, it gars me greet,
To think how monie counsels sweet,

How monie lengthene'd, sage advices
The husband frae the wife despises.

But instead of minding his wife and staying close to home, Tam went out that night, and during the course of the evening he had a compliment go south on him.

After having a really good time at the pub, Tam was on his way home, riding along on his horse Meg, when he spotted the witches dancing by the light of their bonfires. And he especially noticed Nannie, who was the youngest and prettiest of the witches.

Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn,
That while a lassie she had worn,

In longitude tho' sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.

Now this cutty sark was a sort of a shift or long shirt. It fit her well a few years ago, but she’d had a growth spurt, and now it was a little tight across the chest and a bit too short for perfect modesty, but Nannie knew it looked good on her. That’s why she wore it.

But here my Muse her wing maun cour,
Sic flights are far beyond her power;

To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jade she was and strang),
Now Tam, roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"

And in an instant all was dark:
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied.
When out the hellish legion sallied.

And poor Tam had to run for his life!

One thing that I have learned is: If a woman is wearing something flattering, maybe a low-cut blouse, or perhaps a dress that’s a little snug in all the right places, DO NOT mention it. She’ll take it wrong. She knows it looks good; that’s why she’s wearing it.

Noticing is not a bad thing, gentlemen. The ladies like to be noticed. They want to be noticed. That’s why they invented the low-cut this and the thigh-high that…..come to think of it, that may explain the whole sheer-to-waist thing. Noticing’s not a bad thing; but God’s mercy upon you if you get caught noticing! Tam didn’t have to run for his life because he saw a coven of witches; he had to run because he paid a woman a compliment on her mini-skirt!

You know the rest…Meg ran hard for the nearest bridge, because witches can’t cross a running stream. All the while the witches were gaining on them .

Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin!
In hell, they'll roast thee like a herrin!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!

Now, do thy speedy-utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stone o' the brig;
There, at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross.

But ere the keystane she could make,
The fient tail she had to shake!

For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie's mettle!

Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain grey tail:
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, I by no means intent to suggest that any of the marvelous ladies here this evening can in any way be likened to witches! Still, I don’t fancy my chances on making it across the river without a horse, so I’ll be watching my words carefully tonight!

All jests aside, we must pay our respect to the wonderful ladies who grace us with their presence. Please stand, and lift your glasses with me.
Before we get to the toast proper, I would like to take a moment to single out several ladies for particular notice:

Insert names here....

I’m sure I’m forgetting someone, so I’ll
Pause:
I’ll trust Burns would forgive my taking his words a little out of order, as I can think of no finer:

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes;
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses.

There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In ev'ry hour that passes;
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na for the lasses.

The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses.

Gentlemen: To the lasses! (Drink)