So my name is Kerry and currently my love life is worse than tragic. In fact that’s a terrible description, worse than tragic sounds a little teen angsty and dramatic when the reality is far duller.  My love life is currently non existent. I’ve spent the last five months fucking around with someone who is in love with his ex and doing that classic, delusional thing of hoping if I just stay around long enough, behave breezy enough, and ask for nothing, he might decide that he actually wants to date me as opposed to just fuck me and wish I was his ex.

It’s not working.

This is where Kathryn comes in.  Kathryn is my flatmate and is fed up of finding me crying under the kitchen table because said boy, let’s call him Bernard, doesn’t love me.  So we have found a solution.  Kathryn will be my dating pimp.


Now, You might think from this, I, (Kathryn) am a master dater. How wrong you would be. I too, am shit when it comes to men. I just happen to flukely have made someone go out with me. Therefore, I am the most qualified person for this job. My reading of this brief, is to get Kerry quantity rather quality. We both think that by the sheer law of averages, if she dates enough, we’ll find her, if not prince charming, at least a frog that can kiss well. It may be helpful to mention that I have recently dated; a man who wanted to take me to see a tree stump on our first date, a man who thought that Trump was a viable candidate for US President, and a man who was really into Mayan Star signs. Luckily the barrier is low on this one. I’m happy to help….How could this go wrong?



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