I, at a somewhat advanced age, recently married again. And from this experience, I have advice to share with other people considering nuptials.

I now know the term “rehearsal dinner” means more than eating hot dogs, Dixon melon and potato salad and consuming libations, which was how we spent the evening prior to our wedding. It probably means you should actually rehearse for the next day’s “Big Event,” which we did not do.

As a recently retired editor, I mistakenly believed that by giving a script to the MC (my exceedingly organized and trustworthy sister) and the officiant (a retired judge of much repute), my instructions would be followed.

Confident that the afternoon ceremony would go as planned, we spent Saturday morning lounging in a nearby hot plunge while friends and family deftly arranged the wedding venue. We then scurried back to get ready with help from our valiant hairdresser and makeup artist and her sidekick, the gracious tie-tyer.

Arriving on the scene coifed but somewhat harried, we discovered my script had failed to highlight some important details.

First, the ceremony was supposed to start at 2:30, not 2:15, which was when my MC launched into her preamble. This created some havoc for the wedding party, crowded as we were in my aunt’s room, waiting for the musical cue.

When the cue arrived, about 10 minutes earlier than expected and just moments after the bride and groom showed up, we made our not-so-elegant entrance. Fortunately, we were led by the judge, who was clearly more schooled than the rest of us in how a procession should proceed.

He began the ceremony by offering all four offspring opportunities to share wisdom and encouragement, which they eloquently accomplished, interrupted briefly by my granddaughter, the ringbearer, who was adhering to the old, unpublished schedule, and thus arrived late. And didn’t yet have the rings.

The next glitch occurred about 15 minutes later, when the judge skipped the word VOWS on his script and proceeded directly to the ring exchange. At that point, I interrupted His Honor, and we argued a little about who was right.

In this case, the bride’s objection was sustained, and we were allowed to exchange our vows, which included many important promises (succinct version: I cook good meals; he does dishes; I’m often late; he rarely is; we continue to dream up adventures together while embracing our families, friends and the unpredictable journey ahead).

At this point, we were back on track to exchange rings. Miraculously, this went according to plan.

During the inevitable toasts that followed the ceremony, my oldest son skittered through the crowd, presenting the mic to the brave souls who spoke on our behalf. He ended by handing it to his younger brother, who proposed they tell a joke. It began, “So Brodie walks into a bar and sits down next to a whale …”

What could possibly go wrong?