I use to do flowers for weddings. Did it for six years, then quit to work for magazines. I still have nightmares that it's Saturday morning and I'm sleeping. The phone rings and it's a bride wondering where her flowers are. It's a frigin horror only made worse by the caller being an Italian bride. This means there are at least 50 boutonnieres alone to make.
Well, it happened. My worst nightmare came true yesterday (minus the wedding). I was at the park with my girl. We just got there and my phone rang. It was the "Hi, Where the .... are you call!?"
I was supposed to be on set for a shoot in Vancouver at 11:30. It was 12. I ripped my girl from the park. Threw her at Grandma, changed most of my grubby clothes, added mascara and dashed. I got to the shoot with a fully loaded car of props by 2:36. Not bloody bad if I do say so myself!