Dear Santa, please send
Cara a job for Christmas
But not the hard kind.
Nor the kind where she
Has to wear a suit each day
And pinchy high heels
Let it be the kind
With four weeks of vacation
Plus jeans on Fridays
And let her boss be
Hot, smart, single and hard-up
Also, literate.
In an office where
Someone often brings baked goods
Not the fatt'ning kind
A window office
Would be nice. I'm just sayin.
Would trade for flex-time.
And a career path
That clearly leads, one day, to
A sabbatical
(I'm sure you're aware
That Europeans receive
Six weeks leave per year.)
I could totally
see myself working in France.
Sacre bleu! Merci!
Or, if not a job,
How 'bout my fucking trust fund?
I turn thirty soon.
FYI: My sis
Will donate her gifts to me
In my time of need.
Amen, thank you, and
I prefer the blue iPod
In case you wondered.
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