Beatrice greets me. ‘I’ve got an app for you!’
‘You know about it?’
Tuesday: coffee with Rachel.
‘I’m seeing someone,’ she says, ‘and yeah, it’s going well.’
‘Yay! Where’s he from? How did you meet?’
She smiles. ‘Well… have you heard of Tinder?’
‘There’s this app you have to try!’ Perky says, over a midweek pizza.
‘Tinder! One of my colleagues went on four dates last week – all with guys she met on it, and all really nice apparently! She’s seeing one of them again!’
So come Thursday, I’m somewhat Tindered out (if it’s not already a verb, it soon will be).
‘Yes,’ I say to Beatrice. ‘Impossible not to.’
‘You should try it. I mean, there are a lot of duff ones. You have to wade through a huge amount of dead wood…’
‘… but it’s worth persevering – I think.’
The following morning, I get a message. It’s from Beatrice, telling me she’s ‘matched’ with a friend of a friend who she always thought was out of her league.
‘You should try it!’
So, Friday lunchtime, I install the app. Friday evening, still unable to adjust the age settings, I’m starting to feel like a trigger-happy Mrs. Robinson. Saturday, I wake to find a message from the guy I accidentally liked en route to the Settings page; I roll over and go back to sleep.