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The Nanny Hunt: Part Two

Firstborn likes to state the obvious.

On Friday, the fifth of what feels like a thousand nannies arrives at our humble hovel for her interview. As usual, Firstborn bounces to the door, opens it and shouts out a cheery greeting. I smile, say hello, apologise about the state of the house (two small children imprisoned inside all day = utter chaos), and lead her into the sitting room. Prospective Nanny takes off her jacket. Firstborn's eyes widen, she points a finger at the girl and squeals, "You're wearing a pink shirt!" The nanny smiles and says, "Yes, I am." Firstborn's eyes take on an evil glint as she bellows, "You've great great big pink boobies!" I try not to laugh. I fail miserably. Firstborn and I are practically rolling on the floor crying with laughter. Prospective Nanny looks at us with incomprehension.

I apologise and start the interview. But I cannot stop starting at her breasts. They are truly gigantic. They are huge pink mounds completely filling my line of vision. Then I remember what Firstborn said, and the look on her face as she said it, and I can't help but let out a giggle. This continues for half an hour until the interview ends and Prospective Nanny flees from our den of iniquity with a relieved look on her face.

I have a feeling that we failed the interview.


The Daring One said…
That is great. Wasn't she the one BEING interviewed? Have you ever had the problem where you just sort of zone out and stare into space and end up staring at someone's chest? I've done this on several occasions and am jarred out of my daydream by them asking me if there's anything wrong and glancing at their own clevege, where I then realize I am staring.
I think I'm just obsessed with big boobs, probably because I'm a little underendowed in that area.
I have a bad habit of zoning out on the London Underground as well, then coming to and realising that my gaze has been resting on pinstripe clad man-bits. It's quite embarrassing. For me and my victims.

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