Don’t Swipe Right

by L.M. Chilton

Rough estimate, I’d say I’d done, maybe fourteen things, total, that Mary Berry would raise a concerned eyebrow at.

(I say hell, but I was pretty sure even the devil had never been forced to drink Bellinis out of penis-shaped straws at 8.30 p.m. in Cameo’s on a Thursday evening).

Usually, I found that if I repeated the word fine often enough, I could at least convince myself that everything would be, well, you know, fine.