I mustered a frown, disappointed. Not only were my feet cold (in my hurry to answer the door, I’d forgotten the courtesy of putting slippers on) but all that stood in front of me was an absurdly large cardboard box. This wasn’t the groveling ex-boyfriend I had expected, broken and teary eyed begging me to take him back. Just a cardboard box. And not only had this disruption pulled me out of one of my personal favourite reddit rabbit holes since the breakup (that being a Taylor Swift hate page- I was an observer not a contributor), but now I was exposed for all to see. That included my hot pink bonnet, “cool as a cucumber” Primark pajamas and the matted build-a-bear fashioned after Tom clutched desperately in my arms. I squinted into the daylight, hoping none of my overbearing neighbours had spotted me. Jane had already dropped off two casseroles and I don’t think I could stand Trevor, the sixty-five year old retired bus driver, “jokingly” asking to be my rebound yet again.

You’d think someone had died. The way everybody tiptoed around me, treating me like a newborn baby, constantly checking in as if waiting for the day where I magically return to who I used to be. I’d never be normal again. Tom was the love of my life, I’m sure I’d never be able to recreate those magical six months with anybody. And besides, I was the ripe old age of 26. Everybody knows past 22, maybe 23 at a push, women have long outlived their societal sell by date. That’s when the vagina naturally starts to loosen, and quirks that were once charming, like never having to pay for your own drink, become a burden. The dream of a husband had fully perished. I gave the box one last look of disdain, hoping to hurt its feelings, before turning around to leave.

About to step inside, a small rustle came from behind me. I turned back, but nothing was there. I shrugged and took another step. Another rustle, this time accompanied by a strange, grumbling sound. I turned around fully this time and faced the box. Surely I hadn’t begun to slip into hallucination… How many days is it until cabin fever takes effect? I peered closer and all of a sudden the box started violently rocking back and forth. I lept back as a scream escaped my mouth. The box kept rocking- I could hear something inside-

“They can never manufacture these fucking things correctly!” It was a male voice. Distinctly not Tom’s.

“H-hello? Who’s in there? M-my boyfriend is home so don’t try anything weird-”

“Ah sorry m’am just one second!” The box all of a sudden took on a very professional tone.

I stood bewildered as the box, rather skillfully, managed to flip itself onto a specific side. There was a short pause, I felt an awkwardness between us, and then it burst open.

The cardboard flaps parted with the intrusion of a tall man dressed as a policeman, but far more scantily clad than The Met would probably allow. He wore a hat with a shiny plastic badge paired with some flimsy booty shorts that had a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs hung from their belt loop. He also clutched a small piece of paper,

“Hey you sexy thing-” he began reading from the cue card in a salesman’s voice.

“Cheer up, why don’t you! You’ll get him back! In the meantime, uh-” he paused, squinting at the paper,

“Oh! In the meantime, Clara, Shreya and Julian want you to get in some serious trouble! So be a good girl, or else I might have to use these!” He gestured to the handcuffs while still staring at the card. He flipped it over, nothing on the other side. He finally looked up to me with a cheesy grin, clearly satisfied with his performance. I stared back blankly.

“Yeah I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong house.”

“This is 197 Westbourne Road?”

“Well, yes.”

“And you are…” He referred to the card, “Kimmie?”

“Yes. I am.”

“And you did just come out of a six-month relationship after finding out he was using the gay dating app Grindr? But not really for hook-ups, just for really intense text conversations but that was enough to put you over the edge anyways?” I swallowed hard, feeling my eyes prick with tears.

“Wow they really provide you with a lot of information…”

“Anything that can help me provide the utmost customer experience!” He broke out into another sparkly grin. You could almost see him selling car insurance, had it not been for the edge of a testical I could spot poking out of his shorts. He must’ve caught me looking because he let out a cough and changed his body language so that it was no longer staring at me.

“Ahem, so, how would you like to tailor your experience with me today?”

I hadn’t realised that stripper-grams were basically Amazon Prime sex workers in fancy dress. The right woman would’ve been smart to take full advantage of this opportunity. He was quite a gorgeous man, chiseled but not in an overwhelming way, great teeth and a strong hairline. But there was something about Tom, his poor posture, nails yellowed from smoking and slight “fruity” twist that couldn’t be recreated, even if Clark Kent was standing at my door basically throwing himself at me.

“Sorry dude but I’m not really interested. I’ll leave you a google review or whatever but I really need to get back to this show-”

“No interest in intercourse, no problem! You can trade out your 15 minutes of sex for one of our alternative packages!”

Only 15 minutes? My friends must’ve cheaped out. The alternative packages did pique my interest however…

“I can do a 10 minute clothed lap dance?” I shook my head no.

“Prolonged make-out session, with or without tongue?” I grimaced at the thought.

“Sexy routine stop and search role play?” I frowned at him.

“Yes, we do often find our customers of colour aren’t too interested in that one…”

I let out a sigh and turned away, what would a stripper-gram have to offer me? I could barely muster the courage to get through a sex scene in a movie since Tom left, the jealousy and desire it left me with was all too much. Just as I was about to close the front door on the pitiful policeman he stopped me-

“Wait! There is the platonic partner package I forgot to mention!” I paused and turned around slowly.

“Our platonic partner package includes 15 minutes of sofa cuddle time with a TV show of your choice.” I raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not sold. The policeman wracked his brains, so close to closing the deal, a last ditch effort-

“And you know, due to your unfortunate circumstance, I could throw in 5 minutes of “shoulder to cry on” while you tell me about how much you still love him?”

Sold.