Out Of The Blue

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‘What do you make of Tinder?’ CC Image courtesy of ant217 on Flickr

I take a sip of mulled wine.  ‘Hmm not a fan.’

‘Oh – why?’

Tinder Guy, Simon, Viable Prospect, and Daniel.  Especially Daniel: that made no sense.  But because I don’t know how to articulate this within the accepted time frame of a drinks party conversation, I say:

‘I think the emphasis on location means it lends itself more to casual hook-ups, and if that’s what you’re looking for then fine, but I’m not….’

No, I’m looking to meet the love of my life on an app, which is much more realistic.

We’re interrupted.  A short while later I head home.

*

Be-ep. 

I shut the front door behind me.

Be-ep.

I find my phone in my bag, and bring it to life.

You have a new Tinder message from Viable Prospect.

Huh?

‘How’s your Christmas prep going?’

I scroll up.  Two months have passed since my last message.  He must be either very bored or very drunk.  I consider not replying.

Tapping on his profile picture brings up the strangely familiar set of photos.  Clear blue eyes, and the bright white smile of someone who always brushed their teeth when they were younger – or just has good genes.  He’s cute, no two ways about it.  I consider making some kind of witty reference to his poor response time in my reply, if I reply.

The next day, I reply as if no time has passed.

‘I give him a week – two because it’s holiday season – to suggest meeting in person,’ I tell Beatrice that evening.  ‘After that, I give up on him.’

Him, Tinder, the lot.  Until next year.

CC Image courtesy of ToastyKen on Flickr



New Initiative

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CC Image courtesy of Hialean on FlickrI have – or had, until recently – exercised a ‘no initiating’ chat policy on Tinder.  A very different approach from Beatrice

‘I message everyone I match with,’ she tells me over Facebook one evening.  ‘Then I see if they can spell.  When they can spell, even if not attractive, I continyue writing…’

And learning to spell, presumably.

So my complaint that the only two matches I’ve been tempted to contact in as many weeks, I am not allowed to, doesn’t meet with much sympathy.

I explain my logic, that if they’re not interested enough to chat to you and you initiate a conversation, it’s unlikely to go anywhere: the same logic which this blogger, my mother, and my flatmate apply to real-life situations, and which I buy into on the whole.   Beatrice is unimpressed.

‘STOP INTERPRETING NOTHINGS.  They mean NOTHING.’

That being so (which it isn’t), nothing would induce me to contact Simon, NOTHING.  If he can initiate a chat with Beatrice (which he did, but that’s another story), he can do the same with me.  And since he hasn’t… The capital letters make another appearance.

‘SO WHAT?  DO IT.  STOP BEING SO RIGID.’

Am I rigid?  No, just doing what’s required to avoid unnecessary pain, rejection, and disappointment – and yes, the slim, nay, minute possibility of something really good.

And it’s probably that slim minute possibility bollocks which makes me do what I do next: pick up my phone, open the app, and scroll down to the only other match I really hoped would get in touch.

By this stage in the game, I’m pretty jaded about the whole thing.  I’m bored of openers like, ‘Hi, how are you?’ (bored), ‘Exciting plans for the weekend?’ (no, I prefer boring plans), ‘what are you up to this evening?’ (I’m not going to sleep with you just because we live 3 miles apart) – and the rest.  And I have no reason to suppose that this guy will be any different, none at all.  But he is attractive, our mutual friends are what Freddie would call ‘sound fellows’, and his Facebook profile, which I might have had a quick look at, is better than good.  So what’s the worst that can come of dropping him a line, besides pain, rejection, and disappointment?

‘You’d be proud,’ I tell Beatrice later that evening.  ‘I sent the only other viable prospect a message.’

‘WELL DONE.’

Does she know Caps Lock is on?

CC Image courtesy of reticulating on Flickr

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Striking Match

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CC Image courtesy of A.J Photo on FlickrI get in from dancing.  With no romantic prospects on the horizon, I decide to browse Tinder.  A succession of no’s later, I’m about to call it a night, when a familiar face floats into view.  I hesitate, finger poised over the screen.

Simon is Toby‘s best friend.  It used to be a running joke between Toby and I that he would set me up with Simon, which he never did.  His excuse was that he didn’t think we were a good match.  Oh the irony.

I scroll through the photos.  He’s attractive, no question.  And funny: that I know from when we did finally meet at a party early in the summer.  Toby had texted after the event, asking what I thought of him.

‘Nice guy.  Why?’

‘Well I know you were keen to get to know him.’

‘So it’s not that he’s declared his undying love for me?’

‘Well I haven’t seen him since.  I’m sure he would if he had the chance.’

That was the last time we spoke.

I hit ‘like’.  A few seconds pass.  The now familiar screen sweeps into view.

Excitement quickly gives way to feelings of trepidation.  I drift off to sleep wondering how, if we were ever to meet in a date scenario, I would explain, well, everything.

CC Image courtesy of Katie & Ian on Flickr