Another day, another creepy DM from a guy in Zoey’s rollerblading group chat. You’d think he’d get the hint after never replying to him, but, no, he was annoyingly persistent. Although there were plenty of girls in the same group, none of them were really her type. That said, did she even have a type after the disastrous relationship during her stint at university? And even if there was a girl who ticked all her boxes, she could never guarantee they would return her interest. After all, not all gay girls resembled your stereotypical Ellen, or Big Boo. She huffed and rolled over in her cheap IKEA bed. She’d dreamed, no pun intended, of a plush, super king, Silentnight setup, but sadly, a journalism apprenticeship just didn’t allow for such luxuries. She re-read the message:
Hey gorgeous. A
