The Intern

When you’re single it can seem like everyone else comes in pairs.

One troll called me ‘Slutty the bush skankaroo’.

Melons. The girls. Gazongas. I could rattle off every nickname in the world for my boobs – oops nearly forgot jubblies – but it didn’t change the fact they were small.

Operation Find A Toilet Before It Was Too Late was in full swing.

That anonymous coward is probably forty years old with raging BO and still living in his mum’s granny flat

The way he teased me made me feel tingly and giggly, like I’d had champagne for breakfast.

The letters Y, E and S danced on my tongue and shimmied between my teeth.

Without even realising or trying, you got me.

Only our pinkie fingers were laced together, but it was enough to send shudders of electricity through my hand.