I own a gorgeous mansion and I’m throwing a party.
Only the sexiest people are invited. The sky’s the limit, it’s my fantasy so I can invite anyone and everyone I desire.
All the Ryans (Gosling, Reynolds, Phillippe) are there, all the Hemsworth brothers (except the boring one), and their wives, Elsa and Miley, are there – I’m not opposed to some beautiful women at my party.
In fact, I’m excited by it…
But I don’t just stop there.
I invite all the beautiful people I know in real life, my gorgeous girlfriends, their hot husbands, there are no rules, except the one about how ridiculously good looking you must be.
Now, did I mention this was a Sexy Sunday Best party?
The men are wearing tight shirts (or no shirts) and ripped jeans.
The women are dressed in lace and silk.
It’s all very classy.
My Grand Entrance
I glide down my grand staircase and grace everyone with my presence. I am in something gorgeous but comfortable.
I enter the biggest room in my house, the piano room, where the majority of my friends are, waiting patiently so we can kick start this party.
As their gazes find mine, they are ready to start. They slowly approach me and surround me and I am in heaven as they come closer and start to kisssss….
Sssss…. clean my house.
Yep, that’s right. They all have a designated room and plan and they all gather to clean the damn place up.
Because if I owned a gorgeous mansion, I would make a great, huge mess and I would need an entire team of people to keep the place up.
This is why we can’t have nice things…
Man, how do people maintain their big houses, no shit. I feel like the bigger my house, the bigger my mess.
I think if I ever had a big house, I should be able to afford a cleaner.
That, dear friends, is why it is an absolute fantasy of mine to have my house cleaned my all the sexiest people on the world!
…bend a little lower to pick it up…
Me and my cup of coffee would gallivant around the place, watching, wishing, waiting.
It would be amazing.
And because it’s my house and I can do what I want, I would probably appoint all The Avengers to clean the kitchen where I’m always making such a huge mess, like spilling all that sugar when making my coffee.
The Pièce de Résistance
And then, the finale.
Henry Golding makes me motherfucking dumplings.
That’s right, because I like it Asian, he makes me dumplings and fried rice and some honey chicken and combination chow mien and dry beef hor fun and springrolls and curry puffs and salt and pepper pork ribs…
The list goes on.
Him and his sexy sous-chefs have to make dinner for everyone so they make all my favourite foods. They even make some vegan meals because I love Beyonce, despite her bad choice in diet.
And of course, the Husband will be there. Suppose he should get to try some dumplings too.
Let’s face it, nothing turns my sexy alter ego, Dragana, on like a clean house, especially a house cleaned by gorgeous people who end up leaving the place smelling like sex and roses.
So once we’ve had our way with our guests, I politely but firmly tell them to get the fuck out and return next Saturday, so we can do it all over again.
Ahh, one can always rely on a solid fantasy…
Tell me – what do you wish for when you close your eyes?
On that note, good day and au revoir. I have sleep to catch up on *wink wink*…