Micro-Fiction, Text 006: "Everyone's Short on Talent" by Myselfie

 

Ant McPartlin has his hand on my shoulder and things are happening to me. For example, I’m sweating in a strange place: my buttocks. And I’m unexpectedly aroused by Ant McPartlin’s hand on my shoulder. I love Dec (always have done), but I think I’m developing feelings for Ant. He’s tender, and his sense of humour is subtle. I can’t believe I never noticed this until now, of all bloody times, of all bloody places. I look round and Dec is picking at a dried ketchup stain on his tie. I look at Ant’s hand on my shoulder. He has beautiful fingers. My buttocks sweat some more.

I’m worrying that my perspiring arse will create dark patches on my dress. Oh well. I’ll try to keep facing the audience, but my natural tendency is to turn round and sing with my back to them. Concentrate Jodie. You can do this.

The audience is cheering and Ant McPartlin says ‘break a leg’ or ‘good luck’ or ‘go get ‘em babes’ or something. I’m walking onto the stage and the audience quietens down. My stomach shrinks and I think I’m near the middle of the stage but I’m not sure.

 

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