Finding Mr Perfectly Fine

‘Obviously it’s you. Your mate Frodo is like, at least three or four inches shorter.’

‘Thank you,’ I respond primly. ‘Mo, it’s been a pleasure but I don’t think it’s going to work out.’

‘Whatever,’ Mo mutters, putting his trainers back on. ‘You’re an ugly bitch in real life anyway.’

I gasp, too stunned to reply and he turns and jogs away, surprisingly quickly for someone with such short legs. But instead of feeling hurt or worried the way I did when it was Hamza making his escape, this time, I feel relieved. I know I’ve dodged a bullet.

‘I don’t want to know,’ Adam huffs, grabbing my arm. ‘Come on, everyone’s waiting for you.’

‘Hang on, my shoes—’ I turn around to get them, and step right into a piece of dog poo.

‘SHIT!’ I stare down at my bare foot that’s now entrenched in a fat turd, and try not to cry. I’ve been working on this event for months and now I’m about to mess it all up, right at the last moment. How am I supposed to clean this off and get back inside quick enough to give my speech? I don’t even have any tissues on me. I turn to look at Adam, my eyes full of tears and he sighs.

‘I’ll make the speech. I’ll get Fran to bring you some wipes.’

He turns and leaves and I close my eyes and try and focus on my breathing instead of the sticky sensation on the sole of my foot. The phrase ‘shitting on your doorstep’ has never felt more real.