BORDEAUX, France—Turns out, a French wedding is exactly like an American one—except interesting.

I had wondered. When little Laura Whigham—I had known her since she was 7 and officiating at frog funerals—invited me to watch her swap vows with her handsome French groom Terence, I envisioned storybook, last chapter. Princess rides off on a pink pony behind prince to Happily-Ever-After Land, or the French Riviera, whichever’s closer.

All I had to do to go was take two planes and a train and promise not to embarrass Laura by practicing my amazingly inept, pathetic, Pepe L...

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