I'm sorry for all the rude things I'm going to say in the years to come. Rest assured, they will all be directed solely at him.
I'm sorry for all the alcohol I'm going to consume at your wedding. And your reception. And his bachelor bash. And on every other day that I feel the need to slake the thirst.
I'm sorry for all the hangovers I'm going to have in your house, at some distant date in the future. Please understand, the bugger's been getting smashed at my place, whenever he feels like it, for 6 years now. And I've been waiting for the day I can return the compliment.
I'm sorry for the all the ridiculous late-night conversations on graphic novels and music, that you're going to be privy to. I'm sorry for all the ones you've missed out on already.
I'm sorry for the high rate of attrition you're going to face when it comes to having a maid in the house. It's really not my fault. I can only suggest that you hang around long enough for him to write that book about it all, so you can demand half the royalties in alimony.
I'm very, very sorry for Dr. Prakash. But please, don't worry. The good doctor, to drop into post-modern colloquialism for a second, has got your man's back.
I'm sorry for the fact that I'm probably the most dysfunctional of all the relatives you're going to meet. (Assuming he continues to acknowledge my existence, after this little stunt.) On the plus side, you will be amongst a select few, who are allowed access to my eclectic collection of books, music and movies, painstakingly built over the last few decades.
I'm sorry for all the days you've known him, when he couldn't be bothered to grab a shower. And I'm sorry for all the days to come, when he won't be, again.
I'm sorry for the things he does to his socks, and his trousers. I sincerely recommend that you get him to run his own laundry. And please keep lots of white vinegar handy. It is effective when dealing with mysterious odours.
I'm sorry for not using your full name, even though the family jerk just shared it in a bulk e-mail with your photograph, and what I'm sure he fondly imagines to be a cute paragraph describing the state of your impending union.
I haven't taken the liberty, because I don't even know you yet. And the list of things I need to/will need to apologise for, is long enough, already.
Apart from your photograph, all I know about you, is your name. However, I have no qualms in believing that like the rest of us, you're someone he doesn't deserve.
Welcome to the family. And don't mind the funny noises from under the stairs - that's just Uncle Fester being cryptic again.