Saturday, 20 January 2018


Rejoin Tinder. Swipe left on everyone because I realise how emotionally unavailable I am right now. I see my future unfold with each of them as their pictures glide by, the best photos they have, specifically chosen to represent their personality in some visual manner. How quickly it would take for those eyebrows to repulse me. Look at how that one’s smile creases her face all wrong. Another unrecognisable human form hiding beneath a bunny Snapchat filter. A group photo, meaning I don’t know which one you are, so I assume you’re the ugly friend. I land on a girl who looks perfect, just the type of lady who would make my ex jealous, and my thumb hesitates, hovering, waiting for further instructions from my brain. My brain responds, explaining that a girl like this would never match with a guy like myself, because she is beautiful, and my profile picture is of me wearing a tutu, the best photo I have, specifically chosen to represent my personality in some visual manner. It’s better we don’t match anyway. I would have to Google the Top 10 Best Tinder Openers again, because God only knows how the game has changed over the last year. And truth be told, even if I had the perfect line, the bulletproof phrase which would initiate a response punctuated by the ideal emoji (probably the purple devil, although I am a big fan of the comedic grimace myself), I would never use it. Because I don’t know this person nor do I want to know this person. Because people smell real bad if you don’t wash them after a while and everyone is only waiting for their turn to talk about themselves. So I swipe left again, and this next girl is way too skinny for me, which I prefer, because at least I don’t have to contemplate my next move.

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