Must be nice
Must be nice to sit in your glamorous corner office. You see the crystal blue ocean through the window with your 20/20 vision. The current sways the pretty white yachts – the rich kids are learning to sail. You smile, probably thinking of your school years, not a single wrinkle forms on that perfect symmetrical face of yours. You turn back to your screens and type a little. Your neat French tips are clicking and clacking. You see the palm trees on the tiny island rustle with the corner of your electrifying green eyes. You look over to it, resting your head on the palm of your hand, no doubt remembering a rendezvous.
Must be nice to be able to rock a chocolate brown long bob with sharp bangs, which glistens in the summer sun. Your designer heels at the end of those precious long crossed legs match your handbag flawlessly.
Must be nice to strut your hour-glass figure in that towering 5″10 body real slow, radiating confidence, just to enjoy the heads turning.
Must be nice to be blessed with good genes which make you look like a work of art in those jeans. Bet you have one in every colour – I mean, why not with that six-figure salary?
Must be nice to be able to get everyone to do exactly what you want just by leaning over or with that sweet giggle.
Must be nice to have an entitled upbringing and being so well travelled.
Here's to you and your promotion. Hell, here's to all the other opportunities that will fall effortlessly onto your lap.