I went on a date last week the first one since breaking up with #72. Tinder 1 and I met through the phone app that’s replaced online dating. I had mixed feelings about it about dating again but the Ketel One and soda (with a lemon twist) I was drinking while I waited for him, kind of relaxed me. And I’m sure the half Ativan I took before leaving the apartment helped, too.
I put on my first date gear. Leggings and a flowy sweatery thing to hide the ring o’ flab and camel toe. And high black boots. And then, finally, my leather, beat up police jacket. I love that jacket. It makes me feel like the badass New Yorker I once was.
It’s been a week and I don’t 100% remember what Tinder 1 looks like. It was dark in the bar, but I could definitely see that he didn’t look like the pictures he posted on Tinder. Or maybe it was the half Ativan before drinking. What I do remember is his teeth were a little fucked up. I kept trying to look at his mouth while he was talking so I could check them out all the way, but I didn’t want to stare for confirmation.
Of course I made out with him when he drove me home. It was better than I thought and not as good at the same time. Sure he stuck his tongue in my mouth, and he has a big tongue, but he just kind of left it in there, almost choking me. I had to keep pulling back to breathe. But then he bit my lower lip and I thought there is some pancake potential here. Maybe I could teach him how to kiss, but the lip biting earned him points. Enough points to make up for the teeth and misrepresentative photos.
He sent me a text the next morning which is what #72 did everyday before noon. I missed those texts in the three weeks since I ended it. I was one of the nice things he did. Tinder 1 said that there are nice guys out there who will also fuck you. I realized he’s right and have already decided to test him out.
I still feel kind of bad about ending it with #72, but the 50 matches I have on Tinder make it easier. I’ll go out with Tinder 1 again, if for anything else, I want pancakes like, well, like a mother-fucker. And I’ll be that much closer to triple digits. Maybe being single isn’t such a bad thing after all.
Moral of the story, you don’t need a computer to meet people, an iPhone works just fine.