Dear birthday gods,
I’d like my very own Australian experience, if you know what I mean.
One with a panty-melting accent and a very wicked grin.
The icing on my birthday cake would be if he takes a trip down under tonight . . .
My birthday was four-hundred bucks well spent.
Get your mind out of the gutter—that was for the hotel.
But one week on, and I’m no longer having fun in the sun.
Because it turns out my new employer is him.
My inked birthday blond.
Oh, he’s still hot,
But now he’s growly and grouchy,
And there’s no escape because I’m living with him.
Nanny to his young twins.
We disagree on so much.
And when he looks at me,
I’m not sure if he means to kill me. Or kiss me.
Or maybe both.
I’m not sure I’d survive on either count.
Australia!
Come for the sun.
Stay for the man. Forever?
