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SAMMIE

‘So.’ My date, Ronald, leaned in closer, before his gaze dropped to my chest. ‘Have you ever thought about getting a boob job?’

My eyes popped and I almost choked on my white wine.

He did not just say that.

No. I must’ve misheard.

‘What did you say?’ I scanned the pub for the nearest exit.

‘I said you should get a boob job.’ He pointed at my breasts as he casually sipped his beer.

Un-bloody-believable.

He’d already asked me how many men I’d slept with and now he’d chosen another inappropriate first-date question.

‘It’s just that, y’know,’ he ran a hand through his short blond hair, ‘I prefer my women busty and you’re a bit lacking in the boobies department.’

Boobies department?

How old was this guy? Eight years old?

I opened my mouth to speak, then snapped it shut again.

Anyone who knew me would tell you that I wasn’t often lost for words, but right now I was struggling to understand how this muppet could think that it was okay to not only comment on my body, but also suggest that I got plastic surgery after knowing me for less than twenty minutes.

Ronald had more red flags than a carnival.

I shouldn’t be surprised. In the two years since I’d broken up with my ex, I’d been on more bad dates than I’d had hot dinners. And considering how much I loved food, that was saying something.

There was the guy that invited me to a swanky bar in central London, ordered champagne, then, when it came to paying the bill, had conveniently ‘lost’ his wallet.

Then there was the man who brought his mum and sister to the date to ‘get a second opinion’ (no, I wasn’t joking).

Oh, and I still remembered the dude who invited me back to his place, but conveniently forgot to tell me he was married.

Yep. Name a nightmare date and I’d bet that I could top it.

And when you added the unsolicited dick pics and the men I thought I’d had a good time with but conveniently ghosted me once we slept together to my list of crappy experiences, it was easy to see why my love life was a certified dumpster fire.

When I matched with Ronald on a dating app last night and he invited me out, I’d caved. He was attractive and I’d just finished reading a swoony romance novel that tugged on my heartstrings. It made me believe that love was possible and that I was destined to findthe one. So I thought,sod it.I’ll take one last roll of the dice.

Big mistake.

I should’ve just stayed at home and clipped my toenails or cleaned the toilet.

Anythingwould’ve been better than sitting in front of this wanker.

‘No, I haven’t considered getting myboobiesdone.’ I folded my arms across my chest.‘Have you ever considered getting a personality transplant?’

Ronald’s face contorted with confusion.

‘Come again?’ His frowned deepened. ‘Why would I need to do that? The ladies love me,’ he winked.

Ugh. If there was one thing I hated more than a twat it was an arrogant twat.