| I've always had a peculiar attatchment to flowers. Maybe it's because I'm an actress (or I try to be) and you can always tell how the show really was by how many flowers you get afterwards.
We (by we, I mean my school) have just finished our production of Fantasticks. The second night, my best friend and her mother, my old drama teacher, and my mother and sister all came to see the show.
My drama teacher is my idol...my hero. She's absolutely amazing. So much talent, and she's so funny and nice and sweet. Everything that I wish I could be.
And not one of them brought me flowers.
I called my boyfriend and let out my frustration. I had worked at least four hours a day on this show, and no one seemed to care!
The next day we had two shows; one matinee, and one at night. My boyfriend had told me the day before that he would be rushed, as it were, to make the matinee, let alone stop and get flowers.
Fast forward. The cast is coming down the stairs to meet and greet those who were brave enough to stay the extra fifteen minutes.
He was standing there, holding six roses, and grinning like an idiot.
I almost started crying.
He cared.
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