Dear Madam Secretary of State:

You bargain for international peace. You go head-to-head on with dictators abroad.

But can you convince snooty Cousin Ted to sit next to dopey Uncle George at Chelsea’s wedding?

Can you explain to the totally clueless that they may bring a guest, but not their beloved dog?

And most important, can you do these things without losing your mind?

Oh, my dear madam secretary of state, former first lady and now mother of the bride-to-be, I can tell you from my own mother-of- the-bride experience that it is like stepping into another world.

A world where it’s up to you to make sure the canapés never get cold and the open bar does not close a minute too soon.

A world where you try repeatedly to explain the customs of a bridal shower to your befuddled husband until you want to shout: “Just carry stuff out! That’s all you need to know!”

A world where you would like to commit felonies against relatives that didn’t return RSVP cards, never made a hotel reservation and now expect you to figure it all out.

A world where you will be tempted to make yourself a lovely noose out of white satin.

And after your time in this world, seeking world peace will seem like a snap.

It does not matter what your social status is. It doesn’t matter that I may be headed to the Jersey shore while you’re headed to the Taj Mahal. The role of the mother of the bride is never a snap.

I’ll bet you an upscale goody bag that somebody has already called to say: “My maid has no time to shop. Pick up a nifty wedding gift for me in Pakistan while you’re over there, would ya?”

But be warned: In the fairy tale every mother of the bride hopes to pull off, you are the queen, and the queen stays cool.

Even if it would be a lot easier for her to call the special royal guards (think CIA) and ask them to “shorten” the guest list.

Even if everyone expects you to take care of everything — which could include plumbing duty, and I am not kidding.

I should know. It happened to me on the big day, just as my daughter’s dinner reception was winding down. A bridesmaid called from her hotel suite and asked me to come up right away.

“The toilet is broken!” she cried.

Who knows why she thought of me. Maybe she figured I was already in “take charge” mode and maybe a janitor was nowhere in sight. All I knew was we had to fix this and fast.

So in my full mother-of-the bride regalia, I opened the tank, tinkered around and fixed things.

And then I uttered words that no mother of the bride ever imagines she’ll ever say while wearing the gown it took her months to find: “OK, then. Let’s give it a flush.”

See what I mean?

Sure, dear madam secretary of state, you may have “people” who can tinker with the toilet so you won’t have to. But that doesn’t mean those “people” won’t show up at the party with their uninvited grandmothers and next door neighbors. And so, as the wedding draws near, my advice to you is the same as it is for every mother of the bride:

You may be giving away your daughter, but make sure you hang on to your sanity.