Short Best Man Speech for a Roommate: 3 Full Examples

Evening, everyone. I'm Owen. I lived with Adam for four years at uni, which makes me the only man here who can tell you exactly how he behaves when there is no clean cutlery left in the building.

We got put in the same halls in first year, two strangers and a kitchen that smelled of other people's mistakes. Within a fortnight we had a cleaning rota stuck to the fridge. I designed it. Adam negotiated it. By the end of that first term the rota had so many of his amendments pencilled in the margins that you needed a key to read it, and somehow, on paper, it was always technically my week.

I'm an architect now, so I respect a plan. Adam respects a loophole. He is the only person I have ever met who can lose an argument out loud and win it in practice. The bins, the washing up, the thermostat, all of it went through what he genuinely called negotiations. He once spent the better part of an evening arguing that buying milk counted as a chore equal to mopping the entire flat, and he made his case so patiently that I gave in just to get my evening back. He bought one pint of milk a month for two years and called it pulling his weight.

The funny thing is where that same brain goes when it actually matters. In second year I lost my grandad, and I went very quiet about it, the way you do. I did not want a conversation. Adam clocked it inside a day. He did not sit me down or make a speech. He just quietly took over every single one of my chores for three weeks without a word, no rota, no negotiation, no margin note claiming the credit. The most stubborn bargainer I have ever shared a fridge with, and the one time it counted, he asked for nothing back.

Then Leila came along, and the negotiations finally met their match. They met at a flat party, arguing about whether a hot dog is a sandwich, and Adam lost that one cleanly because Leila had a definition ready and he did not. He came home that night slightly stunned. I think it was the first debate of his life he genuinely enjoyed losing.

What I have watched since is the best part. Adam will still argue the toss with absolutely anyone, the council, a referee on the telly, a self-checkout machine. With Leila he just folds, happily, every time, because being right stopped being the point the day he met her. She ends a two-year-old argument with one raised eyebrow, and he grins like she has done him a favour.

Leila, here is your fair warning. This man will negotiate the loading of a dishwasher as though the outcome decides the rest of his life. He will also drop everything, ask for nothing, and quietly carry you through your worst weeks without ever once mentioning it. The first part will test you. The second part is the man worth marrying.

Adam, four years and you never once lost an argument and never once won a week of cleaning. Today is the only deal I have watched you make where both of you came out ahead.

Everyone, please be upstanding and raise your glasses. To Adam and Leila.

Hi, everybody. I'm Carlos. I shared a place with Jordan for three years in college, three feet of wall between our beds, and I am here as a key witness to the fact that this man once slept through a fire drill in his own apartment.

We got matched as roommates freshman year, two eighteen-year-olds who had each told the housing form we were tidy. Both of us were lying. The difference is I felt bad about it and Jordan considered it aspirational.

I teach music now, so my whole day runs on timing, on things starting exactly when they should. I learned that the hard way, living with the one man on earth who has never arrived anywhere at the agreed minute. Jordan does not oversleep by accident. He oversleeps as a lifestyle. He owned four alarm clocks and an understanding with all of them. He set the first one ninety minutes early purely so he could enjoy ignoring it. He missed an eight a.m. exam by treating the snooze button like a conversation, and then he charmed the professor into a retake with a story so good I almost wanted him to have earned it.

Here is what took me three years to figure out. Jordan is never late because he does not care. He is late because he gives every single thing in front of him his whole attention, and the clock is just one more thing he forgets while he is busy actually listening to you. The same flaw that made him miss the bus is the one that meant he never once missed me.

Senior year I bombed an audition I had practised six months for, walked offstage certain I was done with music, and went back to the apartment to quit in private. Jordan was supposed to be at a class. He skipped it. He had heard me play that piece through the wall for half a year, and he sat me down and made me play the whole thing again, badly, for an audience of one, until I remembered why I had started. He failed the pop quiz he missed that morning. He has never once let me feel like that was a cost. I teach because of that afternoon, and I have never told him so.

Then Maya turned up, and the timing of his whole life suddenly mattered to him. They met when she lived in the apartment below and finally came up to ask, very reasonably, why his alarm had been going off untouched for an hour every morning. He apologized, asked her to dinner, and then, for the first time in recorded history, showed up to that dinner early. I did not believe it until she confirmed it.

What Maya gave him is the one thing the rest of us never could. She is the first thing Jordan has never wanted to be late for. He still drifts through the morning like he has all the time in the world, but when it is Maya waiting, he is ten minutes ahead of himself, and he cannot explain why and does not try.

Maya, your warning is brief. He will be late to nearly everything for the rest of your lives, and his excuses will be works of art. He will also give you the kind of attention that loses track of the clock entirely, the kind that drives through the night and never asks for thanks. The lateness is the price. That focus is the gift.

Jordan, three years sharing a wall and you were never once ready on time. Today you were early. I noticed.

Everyone, on your feet and glasses high. To Jordan and Maya.

Gidday, everyone. I'm Hugh. I flatted with Reuben for three years at uni, and I want it on the record that our lounge was, for most of that time, technically a shared facility for the entire street.

We ended up in the same flat in second year, a cold place near campus with a heater that worked when it felt like it. Within a month I had stopped knowing who any of the people in our kitchen were, because Reuben had quietly decided our front door did not really need to be shut, ever, to anyone.

I'm a vet now, so I spend my days letting anxious strangers into a small room and trying to make them feel safe. Turns out I learned the trade at home. Reuben never met a person he did not immediately treat like an old friend. The bloke from the bus stop came round for tea twice. A fellow he met in a queue at the bank ended up sleeping on our couch for a fortnight while sorting his life out. I came home one night to find four strangers eating my pasta, and Reuben introducing them all to me by name like I was the one who had wandered in off the street.

It drove me up the wall for about a year. Then I worked out what was really going on. Reuben leaves the door open because he genuinely cannot stand the idea of anyone being on their own when they do not have to be. The same habit that filled our flat with randoms is the reason that I, in three years, was never once left to deal with a bad day by myself.

When I failed my big anatomy paper and quietly decided I was going to drop out, I did not announce it. I just went grey and stopped talking. Reuben saw straight through me. He did not lecture me. He made two cups of tea, sat on the floor of my room with his back against the bed, and stayed there until I started talking, however long that took. He did that every night for a week. The man who let the whole world into our flat made very sure I was never shut alone inside my own head.

Then Anika appeared, and the open door finally let in the right person. She was one of the strangers. She came to a flat party she had not been invited to, knew nobody, and Reuben spent the whole night making sure she felt at home in a room full of his friends. By the end of it she was the one introducing people. He told me the next morning he thought he had met someone who did it even better than he did.

What I have seen since is lovely. Reuben still welcomes everyone. The difference is he comes home to Anika now, and you can see it in him, the open door finally has a reason to lead somewhere.

Anika, a small heads up. Your home will never fully be your own, because this man will keep adopting the lonely and the lost and feeding them your dinner. He will also make sure that you, every day of your life, are the one person who never has to face a hard night alone. The crowd is the cost. The warmth is the whole reason you are marrying him.

Reuben, three years and you never once shut the door on anybody. Don't start now.

Everyone, please stand and charge your glasses. To Reuben and Anika.