Monday, November 19, 2007
I know, I KNOW.
I didn't post all of my Rome blogs this weekend like I said I would. But I have a good excuse.
Saturday morning, I woke up to the sound of Jeff talking on his cell phone frustratedly. Seems the second photographer for the wedding they had that day called in sick, forcing my hubby, the studio manager, to try to find someone else to fill in with only hours to spare. I gave him a loving, concerned look and began to read my Entertainment Weekly in bed. Finally he came over and sat down, looking dejected.
"Want to assist a wedding?" he asked.
"I hate asking you, but there's no one."
I froze. When I was younger, after reading Freaky Friday , I used to imagine what it would be like to wake up as someone else. It would be cool, I figured, until you had to go to work as the other person, at which point you'd have no fucking idea what you were doing, which would likely result in humiliation or unwitting career sabotage. Assisting a wedding photographer -- I knew the drill from Jeff's numerous tours of duty -- involves holding a light on a giant pole and positioning it so that people are beautifully lit. So to fuck up potentially means to ruin someone's wedding photos.
I wish I could say that I was immediately supportive, and agreed right on the spot. But I didn't. Instead I totally freaked out. Luckily after about ten minutes that subsided and I agreed. I then had exactly 45 minutes to run to Target for a black dress (mine were conveniently wrinkled in a heap at the bottom of the dry cleaning pile), shower, and be ready for a black tie event.
We arrived at the bride's tony Park Avenue apartment right on time, at 2:45, to find her seated with her tiny dog, Cuddles (seriously), having her makeup done. Among the things in her apartment:
1. A modern art painting with the stenciled words "DOG DEAD", which seemed an odd choice for a household that included Cuddles;
2. A GIANT Helmut Newton photography book (giant like you could stretch out and sleep on it if only you had a pillow) on a silver stand; and
3. A fat roll of twenties laid out on the coffee table like a centerpiece (granted, that was probably for tips, but if I was super rich I would leave money out just so I could look at it).
Do you ever have those moments like, "How did I get here?" Well, I had one of those moments standing in my Isaac Mizrahi for Target dress, in a multi-million dollar living room, holding a light so as to better illuminate Cuddles the dog.
Thankfully, I was relieved of my position soon after. I don't know if I would have made it through. I don't know how Jeff does it.
P.S. You do not even want to know how many images came up when I Googled "dog wedding dress".