I’ll never forget my sister’s wedding. It was a bright but sweltering July afternoon in Philadelphia and I was stepping into my first role as a maid of honor. Doddering about trying to keep my sister’s train off the ground, I agonized about what the guests would think about my hair. I had recently gotten it cut but wasn’t satisfied with the final result so I took out the scissors and snipped at my bangs myself. Evidently, I snipped too much. I was uneasy, embarrassed and fraught by the thought of having my photo, butchered bangs and all, cemented in our family’s visual heritage. Serious concerns for a fifteen year old, I assure you.
She walked down the aisle in the garden of a country club, straight up to the chupah and proceeded to be married in traditional Jewish fashion. I recall standing under the glaring sun and thinking to myself how absurd it was that in addition to my unfortunate hair incident, I was likely the only one of the bridesmaids sweating quite so profusely. I even had a fleeting fear that when I went to help my sister pin her train, the sweat from my fingers would sully her dress.…
