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Imagine a Love Island for ladies only. A Wonder Woman’s Island, if you will. Sue Perkins would host. She’d slowmo sashay her way into the villa in a no-nonsense power suit, defying the sweltering Mediterranean sun, then make hilarious quips about “mugging off” and “doing bits”, and chuck in a few pastry puns for old time’s sake. (“Islanders, tell us who you fondant fancy and who’s giving you the cream horn.” ) You know lez/bi contestants would bring the drama. After all, we have a seemingly inexhaustible supply of it. (Seriously, I was in the middle of some high level lesbian drama just now, but I had to tear myself away to finish this article about high level lesbian drama.) I want to see fuckgirls sticking it on each other, having bantz in high-definition, grafting, grinding and grunting under a twitching duvet grainy night vision. I can picture it now. There’d be androgynous babes making goo goo eyes while discussing the Bechdel test.
There’d be exes snogging exes, who are friends of friends, who got with exes, who got with friends… Then everyone’s periods would sync and all hell would break loose. It’d be TV dynamite! Naturally, all the couples would be racing to get hitched after their first date spent drinking bubbly in a carpark. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am. We’d be perfect for Love Island! The show is mostly just sitting around talking about feelings, right? Well, guess who’s spectacular at sitting around talking about feelings?! It’s literally how we spend 95% of our romantic lives. And, even more suitably, we fall for each other quicker than you can say, “My place or IKEA?” Never mind the dick sand, Love Island should be all about the clit sand.