Let me first say, no good ever comes from an evening of Tinder and scotch. With that said…
If you have not heard of Tinder, or had the lovely delight of using it, let me explain. Tinder is an app which connects singles to each other based on geography and select levels of hook-upness. I know that isn’t a word. It also isn’t fair how addictive this simple app can be.
You select what gender you are interested in, create an age range that is acceptable (or at least has a fairly decent credit score rating) and input distance based on your current location. The app then finds suitable matches based on said info. And then the fun begins. If the photo you see catches your eye, you slide to the right for yes. If not, just slide to the left for no. And if you are lucky, the person you like has liked you. Then bingo bango, Bob’s your Uncle, you can start chatting. This kids, is where the fun begins. Or the trouble.
I admit, I have a strange and delightful curiosity to this little app. I find myself on it at random hours of the day, sliding mostly to the left like Zeus, high on Olympus discarding unworthy gods. But when my phone gives that lovely ping and I have a match, I then have to wonder “What to do next?” So far, I have noticed that men at best use Tinder to find the girl closest to them to perform a variety of sexual acts. Women use it in the hopes of finding someone to change their Facebook status. I use it, to educate the masses.
I recently had the lovely fortune of chatting with two very handsome, professional men. One who was in the restaurant business (Mr Chef) , the other in sales (Mr Banks). Mr Chef and I spent days chatting and texting, but his new venture, which opens shortly has taken too much of his time. Translation- he’s been too busy to go on an actual date. This does not sit well with me as, One- I get bored easily and Two, any man should know within the first 10 minutes of meeting me, that I need to be a priority.
While having dinner and drinks…and more drinks with one of my girlfriends. I decide to explain to her what Tinder was. “Be lucky you’re married.” I said, as we swiped my phone of the various local “finds” that the app produced for me. Then we hit a winner. Handsome, tall, cute smile. I swiped LIKE and two minutes later “ping”. My friend and I agreed, he was very cute. And the several shots of Tequila and few glasses of Oban made for a great conversation. Then it hit me. His face looks somewhat familiar.
Oh My God. This isn’t a new guy, this is Mr Banks! Mr Banks and I were a Tinder match about three weeks ago. But after giving me the “I travel a lot and I don’t really have time for something serious” convo, I decided I didn’t even want to entertain drinks let alone dinner with him. Translation- I want to sleep with a girl in every area where I work. Not gonna happen, chief.
Apparently he changed his pics which is why I didn’t recognize him. But like I said, scotch and Tinder are a dangerous combination. Once we were matched again, I got a text message from him. (Oh yea, he still has my number from when we first connected.) Crap!
Mr Banks- You stopped texting me.
Me- Oh yea. Sorry. New phone
Mr Banks- I just got in town.
Me- Where are you?
Mr Banks- The Marriott by the mall
Now kids, I know you may think you have an idea of where this story goes, but let me assure you, it does not. After my friend played text Nazi with Mr Banks and after he made it clear his “intentions”, I allowed the evening to end on a high note- laughing it up with a good friend and falling asleep in my own bed.
The next day, I woke up to two messages:
Mr Chef- Sorry, working late again. Rain check?
Mr Banks- Boo. Where are you?
The moral of the story? I don’t do rain checks. And I’m no ones “boo”.