My greasy index finger betrayed me. This will teach me never to eat chunky chips AND use Tinder at the same time.
I accidentally swiped left.
My plan, however, was to swipe right at such speed that not even the fly in my background could suspect, for a second, that I fancied Steve. (real name)
As I lick my finger clean, tragedy strikes: me and Steve are a match.
Oh, God. Oh, well.
Quickly, it becomes apparent that me and Steve have something in common: we both like food.
I am very intuitive, I just need to look at someone's face to understand their likes or dislikes. I am gifted.
The fact that Steve's belly is desperately trying to escape a grease-smeared vest is a little give away.
The fact that, in his profile picture, he's savaging a kebab with the same intensity with which a shark slaughters a baby seal, is a slight confirmation.
My first impression is then totally confirmed by the sight of lamb juice dribbling down his chin (well, one of many, actually) and landing on a good pair of man boobs.
Steve loves his food. I'm on to a winner.
As I wonder what could possibly push a man with a healthy brain to believe that such image could turn any woman (who's not in the kebab industry) on, I receive a message. From him.
"Hey babes".
"Hey"
"Sup?"
"U mean soup?
"No, babes. Sup = what's up?"
"Ah"
"How are you babes? "
"After seeing your picture, hungry"
Steve unmatches me within seconds.
Oh, God. Oh, well.
I continue my "window shopping".
I swipe right, then right, then right.
Until I see Tom's face. (real name).
He's just my type! He's blonde, with blue eyes, reassuringly chubby. Swipe right.
In his profile picture, he's holding a puppy (95 points). In the background, a motorbike (85 points).
I am very intuitive. All I need to do is look at his face and know, just know that he's the one for me.
His eyes are kind, his face gentle, he's the kind of man who would never disappoint me and would always talk to me with the greatest of respect. I am gifted. I know these things.
Im thinking of how to introduce him to my mum during the next family holiday, and the miracle happens. Me and Tom are a match! See? I told you!
As I start sketching my wedding dress , he sends me a message.
"Hey, you. Fancy a fuck?"
Oh God. Oh, well.
Plenty of fish in the goddamn sea! I think cheerfully to myself.
And I am right.
Karim (real name) is 39 y.o. and he's just my type. He's dark, with dark brown eyes, very slim. Swipe right.
In his profile picture, he's holding a glass of champagne (75 points). His background, a fancy restaurant (67 points).
We are an immediate match. Future is looking bright!
"Ho, hon, prety girl"
"......"
"prety girl, why no answerr, whot you are doing? Plaing with yoursel?"
"......"
"prety girl, you spit o swallow?"
"At your face, Karim? Most definitely, spit".
Oh, God. Oh, well.
When I start thinking that there is nobody, out there for me, I come across Jack (real name).
He is just my type. He's bold. And black. We match !And within seconds, he sends me a message.
"10 inches"
Oh, God. Oh well.
I take a little break from Tinder. I need to rest my index finger and finish my chunky chips.
I Google important things: "learn how to knit in 24 hours"; "how to survive the old age by being alone and unloved"; "grow your own vegetables despite not having a fucking garden"; "why do men over 40 always lose their hair but gain a belly". Nah. Back on Tinder.
As I am coming to the conclusion that maybe (just maybe), I shall not find the man of my dreams on Tinder, I see Joshua (real name). And he's just my type. He's ginger and his face is covered with freckles. In his profile picture, he's holding the hand of a little ginger girl (oh, shit. That's -90 points. He's got baggage). His background, an enormous villa (ding! ding! 110 points).
Of course, we are a match. Yawn.
Of course, a message arrives within seconds. Zzzzz.
Here we go again.
"Hi,there, darling. How very refreshing to come across a lady like you, with such an open, smiley face. I love the way you look at the camera, like you own the world!
I'm sorry if I sound pushy, but I really would like to meet you.
I am around your area tomorrow night. may I invite you for dinner? You chose time and place. Obviously it's my treat :)"
"Hey, Josh, are you fucking high on acid?"
"......"
"Joshua?"
"......"
"Joshua?! Im free, FREE tomorrow!"
"......"
"Joshua"
Oh, God. Oh, well.
