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Name: Bridget Thompson

DOB: 21/09/1987          

Location: England, Liverpool

Ethnicity: White British

Likes; reading, shopping, beach holidays, swimming. Occasionally yoga.

Dislikes; liars, cheats, huge egos, bad breathe etc.

Smoker: YES

This may be an all-time low for me. Filling in an online dating form, with my only true companion, a bottle of Prosecco. I have reached a time in my life where I'm tired of the endless drunken kisses that lead nowhere, odd numbers appearing in my phone and dates that end with me taking my pudding home in tinfoil. It's sad but true, the dating scene is a cruel and unfulfilling world full of shame and failure. I haven't been on a date for 243.494799 Days which in simple terms is about eight long, miserable months. I decided eight months ago I wouldn't accept a date with a guy unless he made me feel something, anything, a spark, a flutter, a tiny bit of hope but since this grand idea popped in my head every guy that has paid any notice to me just made me feel awkward, scared or disgusted. For example the guy from the pizza place asked me out. He had six teeth in total. I took my pizza and ran. So with this in mind after a four hour heart to heart on the bathroom floor with my best friend Layla I decided that joining a dating website would be a wonderful idea. Now here I am revealing myself to a bunch of people who are either desperate, lazy or probably just looking for sex.  Entering my card details and clicking join I take a massive gulp of my drink and head for the shower it's past midnight and I have to drag my tired, useless, unloved body to work where I will input data for eight hours.

**

I work at marketing company, as an administration officer a fancied-up name for office slave. I type, I provide pretty folders for other members of staff, I get coffee, and I slowly watch as my life is consumed by mundane tasks that benefit about 0.1% of the population so basically nobody. They say to have a good life fill it with things that make you happy, have a purpose, my purpose is to get through the week without turning up to work drunk, or eating enough calories to get me through an expedition through Antarctica during my lunch hour.  Today's mundane task numero uno is preparing the welcome pack for our new co-owner. Now I will not pretend to know anything about this dude apart from the fact that his name is Kent Wilson which I have to state is the most ridiculous name ever. No one is called Kent unless they attended Cambridge or oxford and frolicked with future members of parliament. I also can't help but check my phone the dating app has pinged zero times in eight hours. I am so attractive. in all fairness my profile picture combined with my personal statement makes me look and sound like a woman who is desperate but also kind of a bitch.

"Bridget Mr Wilson is here, can you move yourself for the love of god." Simon's voice snaps me out of my pity coma.

"Of course his welcome folder is here including all statistics and policies. I have also included updated staff list and the layout of the building." passing the folder I notice a man enter through the glass doors wearing a suit that can only be described as dashing. Now there is a word that is highly undervalued. His jawline is sharp and almost makes me wonder if he has it surgically augmented to look like superman. his eyes are hooded, his hair is McDreamy level hot! This guy is either gay, married or sleeps with Victoria Secret models only.

"Simon. a pleasure I'm sure." that voice is like chocolate. Okay I really need to stop thinking in similes, who even am I.

"Kent Wilson and you are?"

in deep, deep trouble.

"Bridget Thompson, I'm the Administration officer." the man's eyes are like amber, the colour of the amber they used in Jurassic Park to recreate the dinosaurs. Kent's lips quirk and shivers go from my eye balls to my toes. This man is dangerous and way out of my leauge, not because I am unattractive or have low self esteem but because I'm pretty sure I fell in love the moment he looked at me.

"Well hello Bridget, do you keep a diary too?" hahahahhahahahhaha. No way I've never heard a Bridget Jones joke before, like ever. The only comparison I want is a man to kiss me like Colin firth and for me to say Hang on a minute, nice boys don't kiss like that. Then for my Mr Darcy to say oh yes they fucking do. That is it though any other joke or quip is not tolerated.

"Actually I do, I started my new one today, July 28th met my new boss today, he isnt funny, such a shame." I just said that while writing it on my notepad on my desk. Seriously. Kent is looking at me like I've just grown six heads and sprouted wings, Simon is looking like he may vomit and I myself feel like I may die.

"I like you." pardon me. Did Mr Kent Wilson just say he liked me.

*ding* 1 new notification Brian Jones has matched you.

My phone comes alive and vibrates and dings on my desk. I still haven't replied to Kent's I like you comment. I'm just sat here.

"Well Cheers, I like you too I guess but less of the Jones jokes I really am nothing like her." Bollocks the woman is my spirit guide.

"Really you married?"

"n-no."

"In a relationship?"

"No." my top lip is sweating now.

"have two best friends one being gay?"

"Shit!"

"Yeah I really like you Jones." his dimples are out hold onto your knickers people the guy has dimples.

"You married Mr Wilson?"

"No Jones and I'm not in a relationship either."

No good can come from this.

"coffee sir?" the bastard just smiles and walks into his office which I have just realised is right opposite mine.

Bollocks!

THERE ISN'T PLENTY OF FISH #Wattys2016Read this story for FREE!