I will start by apologizing to any family members reading this (except Aisling, you fucking love it) and also any family friends. Not that any of you are under the impression I'm any kind of perfect angel, (HAHAHA) but I doubt you will want to read about my various experiences with trashy Tinder men. In fact, just stop reading now. Thanks.
So. By now I think I should be some kind of Tinder expert, I think I could probably write a dissertation on it. Yet after a year and a half of vigorous tindering I am apparently yet to master the art, as alas, I sit here alone with a beer, a fag and my cat. I'm basically Bridget Jones, just 10 years younger. Cheers!
After an extremely bizarre final Tinder date (which I am sure I will write about another time), I have actually taken the plunge and shakily and hesitantly deleted the app. I am in recovery, three weeks Tinder free. There have been ups and downs, nights when I've been left alone unsupervised and nearly relapsed. But here I am, and though at one time I couldn't imagine life without my sweet sweet daily fix, I feel so much better, I feel healthy, I feel free.
Anyone who knows me and wasn't aware of that, I know, I know, it's utterly shocking and you never thought you'd see the day. Close your mouth. The original idea for my blog was actually going to be about my 'colourful' Tinder experiences, however I swiftly decided against this because I realised nobody would date me if they knew I would write a blog about them for everyone to laugh at afterwards. And that would also mean the skeletons of my dating closet would be out for the whole world to see, when they belong firmly padlocked in that closet. Forever. Like Hozier says, future husband, you shouldn't care none about what my hands and my body's done. PREACH HOIZY!
So, I will fill you in with but a few of my most colourful Tinder experiences, for now I'll condense it to the best and the worst...
Naturally I'll start with the worst. DISCLAIMER - I am not being a total bitch here, this dude does not have me on Facebook and will never read this, so I can be as brutal as I want, and besides I'm pretty sure the feeling was more than mutual. We will call him... Tom. Tom's profile was quite artsy and intriguing, a lot of black and white photos and tartan scarves etc, he definitely caught my eye. He had this strong bone structure and serious look constantly on his face in all his pictures. He wore specs, the kind of geeky specks that pretentious dicks in Camden (who I totally get wet for by the way) have made sexy. They were round with tortoiseshell boarders. He had black floppy hair, and this look in his eye that said one of two things - either 'I am looking into your soul right now, reading you like a book while simultaneously undressing you' or 'I'm a fucking serial killer, run'. I think I've made him sound pretty hot, but I do have to admit he had the kind of face that personality was going to determine which way it went. He was either going to be unbelievably sexy or be a creepy pedophile. Think Ryan Gosling... Kind of fucked up looking but has the potential to be (and in his case is) SO HAWT. You get what I mean now? Yeahhhh... So we started chatting and much to my joy he turned out to be a writer, a photographer and an artist. That level of pretension is more than enough to get me going, like seriously get this girl a mop and bucket. And he had this way of writing messages that made me feel like I was a character in a 50's romance novel, talking to a mysterious, hopeless, sexy, failing artist who was subtly pursuing me. I was utterly convinced he was going to be my Ryan Gosling.
He asked me to meet him under the London Eye after work one Monday, and who could say no to something that romantic right! So there I was sitting on a bench underneath the London Eye, looking out over the Thames planning our wedding (hahaha kiddinnnnnng), and I see a figure out of the corner of my eye. 'Thophia', a voice says. I look up. I see a rather boney, approximately 5'5 man in a an extremely posh suit, wearing leather gloves and carrying a briefcase and one of those expensive black business mans umbrellas. He didn't just write like he was from the 50's, he looked like he actually WAS from the 50's. And no, 'Thophia' was not a typo, he had a pretty serious lisp too. I just wanted to say 'No. No I am not Sophia... Good day Sir!' and get up and RUN. And don't get me wrong here, (as much as it sounds like it) this was NOT just about how he looked. He had this extremely bizarre way about him, he was standing in front of me with one arm outstretched for me to take his hand, and the other folded behind his back. Like, what? What the fuck? Why are you doing that.
I gave him as big a smile as I could muster because I didn't want to be rude, and got up to give him an extremely awkward kiss on the cheek. He awkwardly walked me to the very expensive OXO tower where he had booked us a table and then he probably spent about £40 on two cocktails. I will not go into too much detail about the date, other than I literally cringed for the entire hour, I couldn't stop fidgeting, and I don't think I made eye contact with him once, we kept misunderstanding each-others humor and then sitting in silence, and it was just HORRIBLE. I am probably the least awkward person in the world - like I could make conversation with a fish, and any other bad date I've been on where I knew there was no chemistry, I've managed to see it out and make decent conversation and generally quite enjoyed it, even though there's that tinge of disappointment that I'm not getting a shag. (Sorry Mum)
This was next level. I've never been so polar oppositely different to anyone in my life, or felt such a strong longing to leave anywhere, ever. I would rather be stuck in a lift with a human sized turd than live through that date again. And just when I thought I had managed to escape, he insisted on walking me 20 minutes back to the station, (I'm sure just to be a gentleman as there was no way he was enjoying himself) and we filled this time arguing about whether Southwark station was linked to Waterloo East station. Needless to say, we said a horribly awkward goodbye, and we never spoke again. Except for when I sent him a picture of the Jubilee line tube map to prove that Southwark IS in fact linked to Waterloo East station. He was a nice man and utterly harmless and really quite sweet - but so not for me, and I was so not for him either. I think he thought I was mildly retarded.
I gave him as big a smile as I could muster because I didn't want to be rude, and got up to give him an extremely awkward kiss on the cheek. He awkwardly walked me to the very expensive OXO tower where he had booked us a table and then he probably spent about £40 on two cocktails. I will not go into too much detail about the date, other than I literally cringed for the entire hour, I couldn't stop fidgeting, and I don't think I made eye contact with him once, we kept misunderstanding each-others humor and then sitting in silence, and it was just HORRIBLE. I am probably the least awkward person in the world - like I could make conversation with a fish, and any other bad date I've been on where I knew there was no chemistry, I've managed to see it out and make decent conversation and generally quite enjoyed it, even though there's that tinge of disappointment that I'm not getting a shag. (Sorry Mum)
This was next level. I've never been so polar oppositely different to anyone in my life, or felt such a strong longing to leave anywhere, ever. I would rather be stuck in a lift with a human sized turd than live through that date again. And just when I thought I had managed to escape, he insisted on walking me 20 minutes back to the station, (I'm sure just to be a gentleman as there was no way he was enjoying himself) and we filled this time arguing about whether Southwark station was linked to Waterloo East station. Needless to say, we said a horribly awkward goodbye, and we never spoke again. Except for when I sent him a picture of the Jubilee line tube map to prove that Southwark IS in fact linked to Waterloo East station. He was a nice man and utterly harmless and really quite sweet - but so not for me, and I was so not for him either. I think he thought I was mildly retarded.
Sooooo that story went on for a lot longer than I anticipated, so lets call this part one of my colourful Tinder experiences, I'll give you a positive experience for next time.
Dating is hard, but never give up hope - do however give up Tinder. There is no hope on Tinder, it just eats your soul. And also, you get messages like this.
No, I didn't find that message on the internet, that was genuinely sent to me.
Happy dating peeps, and happy adulting x
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Been there babeh! 🙊
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