I have long said that if I could go on any reality TV show, it would be Love Island UK. There is nothing on this Earth that makes my loins quiver more than lounging by the pool, talking shit and bitching about men. I will kick off if the situation requires it. The thought of preparing scrambled eggs for my crush du jour in a kitchen decorated with neon signs that read “TASTY” and “EAT, SLEEP, CRACK ON, REPEAT” titillates me. Given the chance, I would thrive in that villa in Mallorca.
