No Reason This Can't Be Fun

We were finished playing tennis Monday night and I was inches from a clean get-away, when I committed the fatal error. What I said was, "Good luck with your son's wedding this week-end." What I should have said was, "see ya next week", because that one passing comment led to an hour-long wedding commentary. The most poignant feeling I detected from the conversation? Dread.
She and her husband are traveling to another city, staying in a luxury hotel, hosting (footing the bill for) a roof-top barbecue (rehearsal dinner) for ninety-five essential people (essential, according to the bride), watching their son join in holy wedlock to a wonderful (I assume) girl, and afterwards, partying like rock stars on the bride's family's tab. What's to dread?
I mean, I get that you're worried that something could go wrong with the one event they've entrusted to you, but it sounds to me like you've covered all your bases. You ordered pork for the masses, vegetarian barbecue for the health-conscious friends and chicken for the Jewish relatives. No one could accuse you of being thoughtless or insensitive. Yes, it could rain, but it probably won't and you have no control there. And as I pointed out, as long as there's alcohol, people will be happy.
And speaking of alcohol.... you're gonna need to start front-loading...now!