HIM, a Charleston Escape, and Pressing the Delete Button

Updated: Oct 6

Quick update on Him: Spotted on both Hinge and Tinder. Eek. Of all the things I’ve shared on this platform, that’s probably the most cringe worthy- admitting to being on Tinder.


Anyway, the first time I saw him on Hinge, my stomach irked, but I’ve seen him on the app before. He was actually active. I swiped left. Didn’t want to play with any fire.


And then I saw him on Tinder. Photos of his smile, showing off his adventurous, magnetic self. I checked his location… six miles away. Meaning he was either at home or… worse, at a bar. Or worse worse, at a girl’s. Or a girl was at his house. Oh the possibilities could really drive a girl insane. Part of me was dying to swipe right or text him or something.


But did I really miss Him… or just feel empty because there was no one to fill the loneliness void that seemed to plague me?



Besides my ridiculous rant on loneliness, I know you’re asking… “and what were you doing on Tinder and Hinge, miss? Aren’t you supposed to be on an online dating sabbatical?”


Yeah well, how often do you say you’re going on a diet and rationalize with yourself that the cheese from pizza is a good source of protein so it’s all good. How often do you tell yourself you’re going to only smoke when you drink but you find yourself lighting up as soon as there’s a traffic jam heading East on the 10 during rush hour and you really need to make that happy hour?


My point exactly. I just couldn't help it. Well, as my therapist would say, I could help it, I just chose not to.


In case you don’t know the online dating landscape as well as a pro like myself, Hinge allows any party to “like” a photo or comment from another’s profile. The recipient can “match” with the instigator and boom, you’re in business. Except everyone who likes my profile is sub-par, and I’m being nice. On Tinder, your thumbs swipe right if you like someone’s profile and left if you don’t. If there’s a match, Tinder makes a whole big to do. And then usually conversations end up something like this:


It's cut off, but at the top of the screen Matt asks,

"So why do golfers bring an extra sock?" <---- one of my Hinge prompts about a dad joke. (This is why I'm single I guess)





Enticing, right? But oh, no, we go back for more, the crazy generation of swipers who can’t seem to get enough filth from our contemporaries.


And I’m not innocent in collecting filth. I forgot how Tinder had gone from an actual dating platform (circa 2015) to now mainly a compilation of horny travelers and even hornier locals who may as well be asking A/S/L ? Remember those days of chat rooms? God we were bad. I say “we” because I want to assume you partook in this during the middle school years when those tingly feelings started… down there. My Dark Side definitely developed early.


Even worse, I am part of the filth, not just a criticizer. When I traveled to Charleston a few weekends ago with two girlfriends, we were swiping left and right trying to find a good old fashioned 72 hour sexcapade (I made up this word, or at least I'm claiming to).


Southern gentleman? Yeah, right. In case you are wondering, all we found was the usual filth of overworked bartenders with attitudes and not ONE male wearing sunglasses with those strap things around the back of his head.


My best friend took the opportunity to blow a mutual friend who was on a break with his girlfriend while my other friend and I were sleeping in the bed next to them. When one of us (probably me) tossed around in our sleep, she picked up her head and came up for air. The guy promptly ever so gently pushed her head back moaning, “Don’t stop, it’s been like six months.” What guy goes six months without getting blown? Whatever. I’m sure she did a fantastic job as she complied and went back to bobbing her head up and down.


As far as my angelic self goes, I’ve decided to delete all the apps. I’m banned from Bumble, so this includes J-Swipe, Hinge, and yes…Tinder.

When I’m annoyed with doing my real work, which occurs about every 70 seconds, I instinctively go through my phone to swipe…and it’s empty. And this way I won’t run into Him on the swiping-verse.


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