She did a last once-over in the mirror, deciding she looked absolutely perfect — which was the most important aspect of having a good time at a wedding

Many of her friends weren’t too excited about attending weddings.

Not her. Weddings gave her the opportunity firstly to dress up — she loved dressing up — and secondly to people-watch.

She leaned forward in front of the mirror and looked at the crown of her head. She was grateful for her thick head of hair. Her friends with thinning hair were not as lucky. At least the mark time leaves on me is easier to hide she thought wryly. The color job there was imperceptible. Gianna was fabulous.

And what a character! Hairdressers were notorious for their social commentary and that story Gianna had just shared?

In air filled with the smells of shampoo and hairspray she could hear the juicy Italian accent and read the bemused wonder and sarcasm in the outsider’s voice.

“Wouldja believe it?” Gianna had asked running her red-nailed fingers through her mass of messy blond curls. “The woman comes in here dragging a five-year-old boy with red hair. Lookin’ over her shoulder ‘Where can we talk privately?’ she hissed. I took her in there.” Gianna stopped parting hair long enough to jab a hand over her shoulder pointing at the little storage room at the back of the salon.

“I follow her in. ‘Close the door! Close the door!’ She looks around. Then in a panicky voice she whispers ‘I need you to take care of this.’ ”

“Take care of this?”

“Yes!” she says. It’s killin’ her to say it but I wait. “Dye it. I need you to dye his hair brown but no one can know!”

“You hear that?” Gianna guffawed. “What does this woman think? This kid’ll get married one day! What will she say when there are little red-haired grandchildren? Huh?”

Gianna had a point. Almost. By the time the truth would be out there’d be no backsies! That red-headed kid would be someone else’s problem. That’s all a mother needed. Get them to the chuppah then breathe.

She did a last once-over in the mirror deciding she looked absolutely perfect — which was the most important aspect of having a good time at a wedding. It was not all about the chassan and kallah — if you looked around at a wedding you knew exactly what nonsense that was. It was all about the clothes. Well the clothes and the music. And the flowers!

She giggled and slipped her shoes from a black felt bag. Her first pair of wedding heels — Christian Louboutin. Those who knew knew you could tell a person by their shoes and their bag. And these shoes were a triumph. Not new but classic. What was that? A Swarovski crystal was loose at the center of the bow. Oh she’d have to take care of that.

Really she thought as she brushed off the toe tonight she didn’t even need those shoes to feel light on her feet. Work today had been a conquest. Dealing with insurance companies was always a nightmare but she had persevered and procured a home aide for an elderly woman just released from the hospital. The daughter had pressed her hand. “Some guy will be lucky to have you!” she’d said.

It was such a wonderful feeling to contribute to people’s well-being. Her supervisor had commended her efforts and the patient’s family had sent her a large bouquet of flowers. Not just any flowers — they had sent her an arrangement studded with gardenias.

When she got married she’d have gardenias in her bouquet.

Outside a crisp wind scattered the smell of snow through the clear velvet evening. A yellow moon flowed a river into the sky. On nights like these you could believe in the higher finer meaning of things. You could believe in the goodness of people.

Should she? It would only take a second.

She turned and ran back inside. With hurried fingers she pinned the gardenia into her hair. Fresh flowers were in so she figured she could get away with it.