Perfect Match: a laugh-out-loud romantic comedy you won’t want to miss!

I think for a second. That must be about it. I’ve covered everything from looks to pets to voluntary work. What else is there?

‘I nearly forgot!’ I plonk my wine glass down on the table, feeling a head rush from the booze.

Kate looks up expectantly.

‘He’s got a massive cock!’ I add, grinning.

After all, I don’t want to end up with some super-rich, gorgeous, well-dressed animal lover who’s crap in the sack. Sex is important too.

Kate nearly spits out her wine. ‘Shut up, Sophia. I’m not writing that!’

‘Fine, I’ll write it then!’ I grab the laptop and start typing away.

‘I can’t believe you!’ Kate laughs.

On second thoughts, I delete ‘massive’ and add ‘7 inches’. No, ‘7.5 inches’. Slightly above average, but not so big that it would be painful.

‘“Cock must be 7.5 inches,”’ Kate reads out, giggling. ‘Oh my God!’

Oh, and girth. I don’t want some guy with a spaghetti dick. He’s got to have girth too. I make a circle with my thumb and forefinger, making it bigger and smaller until it’s just the right size.

‘What are you doing now?’ Kate sighs.

‘Do you have a ruler?’

‘What? Why?!’

‘Can you just get me a ruler?’

Kate groans as she goes to get one from her bedroom.

A minute later, she returns.

‘Cheers.’ I take it from her and rest it against the perfect girth circle I’ve created with my right hand.

‘Okay, “cock diameter must be 2.1 inches”,’ I type the words in as I speak. ‘Shit, how do you work out the circumference from that?’

‘I’m sure Mr Perfect is smart enough to figure it out,’ Kate tuts.

I gaze at my ad dreamily.

‘Do you think seven and a half inches is enough? Or should I make it eight?’

Kate grabs the ruler to compare.

‘I’d go with eight,’ she says.

‘Okay, eight it is.’ I edit the text. ‘Done!’

‘You do realise you’re going to get hundreds of dick pics now?’ Kate points out.

I shrug.

‘You’re crazy!’ Kate comments as she reaches for the laptop. ‘Right, photos…’

She opens up her Facebook account and starts scrolling through my pictures.

‘Let me get my laptop.’ I get up.

‘Not from the file!’ Kate yelps, grabbing my arm and pulling me back down.

‘This one’s nice,’ she says, hesitating on a terrible photo my mum took of me walking through Hyde Park on a Sunday afternoon with no make-up on.

‘Nice?! It’s rubbish. I’ve got loads better than that.’

‘It’s nice. You look natural, at ease, approachable.’

‘I look pale and drab. Anaemic. It doesn’t even have a filter.’

‘You look natural. Guys like natural.’

‘No, they don’t!’ I grab the laptop. ‘Guys like hot!’

‘Sophia!’ Kate yanks the laptop back off me. ‘You said it yourself! What you’ve been doing so far hasn’t been working. You need to try something different—’

‘I didn’t mean upload an ugly pic of myself!’

‘It’s not an ugly pic!’ Kate right clicks onto the photo and saves it to her desktop.

‘It is! No one’s going to reply to that! Please don’t use that, Kate!’

Ignoring me, Kate goes back onto Dream Dates and selects ‘Add photo’. I stand up, a little unsteadily, and drain the last of my wine.

‘Picture uploaded,’ she announces smugly. I roll my eyes. ‘Right. Well now I’m definitely not going to meet anyone.’

I place my empty glass in the sink. ‘I’m going to bed.’

Kate clicks a few more buttons on the screen. ‘Your profile is now live,’ she trills.

‘Great.’ I skulk off to my room.

Chapter Three (#ulink_feb61fe2-a73f-5f85-ba66-5f74b570f7e8)

‘So….’ My colleague Sandra sidles up to my desk.

She’s wearing one of her ratty old cardigans, a dark blue number that’s unravelling slightly at the hem. It’s one she knitted herself and like all her handmade creations, she’s incredibly proud of it, even if it does look a little worse for wear to the rest of us.

‘How was your date last night then?’ she asks in her sing-song voice, which is just a little too squeaky and high-pitched for me to handle today.