It’s not bad advice for a party reporter to take on any social function as an Operation: Smile in itself. My Saturday night assignment: take the charity’s name, which has performed over 400,000 free cleft palate surgeries in 38 countries over the last 40 years, as a direct imperative, observe the goings-on of the 12th annual Operation Smile Winter Wonderland Gala at the St. Regis Deer Valley, grin politely, laugh a little and report what was amusing about the evening.

Easy. Before I even got to the blue-carpeted step-and-repeat, the day was off to a jocular start. I rocked up 12 minutes late to a hair appointment at h2blow in Kimball Junction, babbling on about how I’m never late, of course. To make up for lost time, identical twin stylists Jayden and Shayden, wearing complementary cream sweaters, each took their blow dryer to opposite sides of my head in perfect symmetry.

During the gala’s cocktail hour, Ritual Chocolate’s Scott McLean paired one of the company’s chocolate bars with my drink, the night’s signature Operation Smile blue cocktail. He suggested the brand’s Juniper Lavender Chocolate 70% bar to accompany that heady mix of Malibu rum, blue curaçao and pineapple juice. That’s when I saw men carrying an unplugged Vida Tequila sign from the hotel’s lobby through the still-closed doors of the ballroom, which I took as an indication that Lisa Barlow, an event host and the break-out star of the Real Housewives of Salt Lake City, may be near. An hour later, when the night’s emcee, Kevin Calder, MD, shone a light on the audience to thank the function’s hosts, I found that neither she nor her husband, John Barlow, had made it. I never saw the sign again, nor did I have a Vida cocktail. I couldn’t believe I’d spent money on a blowout for an event Lisa Barlow didn’t attend.

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A cockapoo in Barefoot Dreams loungewear (a sponsor) walked the step-and-repeat. Later, I pointed out the dog napping gently under a long buffet table lined with empty, silver chafing dishes.

“Do you think the doggie is having fun?” I asked my party companion as Park City singer Kate Chanson scatted like jazz’s Ella in an ice-blue princess dress like Disney’s Elsa.

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My plus-one answered me from the perspective of this upscale pup in his makeshift fort, adopting the world-weary voice of an aging child actor who’s seen some stuff (nearly identical to the voice we put on to imitate our Korean Jindo dog when he side-eyes us in disbelief asking if he wants to go outside when it’s snowing).

“As long as we’ve got a roof over us…” he said. You’d have to understand that the dog was named Rufus for this pun to land.

I asked Shay Curtis if his SCUBA-inspired zip-up was made by contemporary design’s goth king Rick Owens. Curtis told me that his look was, in fact, forged by his fiancé, the local designer Abigail Griswold. She looked cool-as-hell in raver pants and a leather bucket hat of her own design. Griswold and Curtis run the brand ABI, which showed at Paris Fashion Week last month. Abigail and I know each other in a less glamorous capacity — we both work a few hours a week at the front desk of a boutique fitness studio in town.

An event organizer rang a xylophone, and dinner began. I was seated near an out-of-towner who explained his start-up idea: over-the-counter chewable pharmaceuticals for children. Think “Robitussin gummies,” he told me. Sounds fun!

“See you at the after party!” I shouted after him as his partner pulled him away from our table toward the one with celebrities. The entrepreneur had sat down in the wrong chair.

No matter. His absence allowed me a direct sight line on another table-mate, a young man scribbling with purple pen on hotel stationery. Moments later, the emcee called him to the podium to accept an award. His name was Jackson Doane, and he’d had 11 cleft surgeries in his 19 years on earth. On a gap year between his freshman and sophomore years at Washington and Lee University, Doane is working for Operation Smile in an all-around capacity. He’d even arranged the pine-wreathed lantern centerpieces at our table. Doane told me that his hometown of Virginia Beach had selected him as the city’s youth poet laureate an hour earlier. Park City’s 18-year-old Skylar Griswold, a fellow poet, humanitarian and Operation Smile honoree, came by our table to clink Lladró trophies with Doane.

Later, as Chanson exited the stage to make way for the musical stylings of actor Zachary Levi and the Crescent Super Band, I asked her about the song she’d sung to open the formal ceremony. I assumed it was an original. She told me it was actually from “The Greatest Showman.” I’m not a huge musical lover.

A video from YouTuber Mr. Beast played on the projector.  He told us that if we don’t donate to Operation Smile tonight, we hate children. 

Two airline chicken breasts and one beef medallion later, Emmy-winning auctioneer Liam Mayclem started the fundraising. Vacation packages went to paddle-raising attendees at modest discounts, and everyone seemed secure enough that Operation Smile would reach its $500,000 fundraising goal for the night. Then, actors Rumer Willis and Darren Barnett surprised the audience by auctioning themselves off for a night on the town in Los Angeles at fellow attendee Evan Ross’s restaurant, The Hideaway. They made $6,000 for Operation Smile.

Willis upped the ante: She auctioned off Barnett again, this time for “a night of consensual romance” for two lucky attendees in LA. He took off his blazer while strutting around comically to amp up the sex appeal, but he kept his sunglasses on. He raised another $5,000 for the charity.

Then the lights went up, and the taunting, opening notes of “YMCA” began to play. It was time to go home. I put a bite-sized raspberry tart and a miniature Bonne Maman honey jar in my jacket pocket. I rode the funicular down to the parking lot next to a woman named Kimber, whom I’d been admiring from afar all evening. She matched the rhinestones on her custom eyepatch to the glimmering stud work on her dress and boots.

Mission accomplished.