No, We Can't Be Friends

by Sophie Ranald

Married people had crushes too. Just because you had a ring on your finger didn’t mean you’d never look at anyone else that way again, ever.

Don’t waste the best years of your life on a man who’ll only ever love himself. Don’t let it destroy you like it has me.’

There was no way – no fucking way, even if there’d been a zombie apocalypse and hers was the last safe refuge in London – I was going to ask my former friend for help. I’d take the zombies, no problem. Shambling around, undead, with sightless eyes and my insides hanging out of a gaping wound was a small price to pay for not having to do that.

Sloane, you dodged a bullet there.

I’d need to start doing proper crazy cat lady things like talking to her about my day, asking her about hers and cluttering up my social media with pictures of her, so she’d know I loved her.

Must remember for my cat lady era.

‘He’s an utter wankpuffin, Sloane. A twatbadger, a cockwomble, a dickbiscuit. He is a miserable piece of knobcheese and I hope he spends the rest of his life regretting what he did to you.

‘Once a shitgibbon, always a shitgibbon.’