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MOLLY
Single parenting is not what Nancy Meyers made it out to be. There isn’t a hydrangea or hot younger doctor in sight. Not even a charming widower with an improbably festive home.
Instead, my life is all flaky ex-husband, messy kitchen, grimy (if gorgeous) kids, and an alarm call at the arse-crack of dawn each day.
To top it off, I have no nanny.
I’m desperate.
But not desperate enough to let my sexy, I-never-want-kids ex-boyfriend step up as my new live-in manny.
Right?
MAX
Irony is not rain on your wedding day.
No, it’s finding yourself shacking up with your ex to be the manny to her children.
That’s the ex who walked twelve years ago when I told her I didn’t want to be a father.
The ex whose beauty is more breathtaking than ever.
Maybe that’s not ironic.
Maybe that's just karma being a complete and utter bitch.
Or maybe, just maybe, it’s a second chance at first love… if I can only ‘manny up’.
