God grant me the strength to survive mistletoe and the barnacle of boardroom princesses... Holly f*cking McAdams.
My best friend's little sister and pint-sized menace.
Thanks to her lost luggage, a surprise snowstorm, and a conveniently "full" hotel, she's the little spoon for the night.
Her so-called "brilliant" plan to avoid accidental spooning?
A catastrophic failure, in case you were wondering.
There's a code-a bro code I take very seriously-but some kind of mistletoe-fueled voodoo hijacked my better judgment.
Maybe it's the possessed mistletoe playing matchmaker with a demonic flair.
Could be the manifestation panties I can't get out of my head.
Or her cute little librarian glasses invite me to "her stacks" if you get my drift.
And you'll never convince me that the thigh-high striped socks she wears to "keep warm" are anything less than a tactical maneuver designed to leave me putting a book over it-and I'm not a big reader.
Everything about her is a snake charmer's symphony, conducting a full-scale assault on my co-er, anaconda.
When Nick asked me to give his baby sister a ride... did he really expect me to survive her thigh-high socks and my rapidly deteriorating self-control?