Are you single? Do you have standards? Are you a good catch? Well, if you answered yes to all three of these questions, Tinder most likely isn’t for you.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Tinder is the purgatory between life-long monogamous bliss and having to go get checked monthly for STDs at the local health department. A crapshoot, if you will. You never know what you’re gonna get on Tinder. Might be an expensive engagement ring. Might be herpes. Surprise! If you follow me on my WAXlorette FB page, you saw me skydive on the Fourth of July. I like living on the edge a little, sometimes. That’s why I love Tinder so much. Keeps you guessing.
Tinder is a free dating app on your phone. To use it, you post pictures of yourself and create a profile, giving potential mates an idea of “what’s in the box” before they actually meet you. You enter in data such as what school you graduated from, what job you have, whether you have kids and what some of your hobbies are. You try and use the least hideous selfies you have on your phone and hopefully some of those are full-length and close to reality.
Men are the worst at choosing pics for dating apps. They think they are going to entice you posing with fish they caught or deer they shot. They are part man, part cat, apparently. “Lookie what I killed! Wanna pet me?” Um, no thanks, Tiger.
When they aren’t posing with dead animals, men like to show off those sunglasses. I like irises, and I’m not talking about flowers. I like to make eye contact when making out, so I want to be sure you don’t have creeper peepers before our first date. Lastly, men love posing with two or three other men in every shot. That’s fine, but if you are the least attractive in the bunch, you need to find some ugly friends, buddy. You gotta stand out.
Sometimes you get lucky, and get nine decent pics of Brad, stats like “6 ft”or “MBA from Columbia,” dental records and the results of a Myers-Briggs personality trait test. Teasing. They don’t ask for your dental records. If they did, I’d undoubtedly have an endless supply of suitors to choose from because I’ve never had even one cavity. Surely, that should be the yardstick to which a person uses to measure their soulmate potential, amiright? I appreciate nice teeth. I should start my own dating app where you just have pics of smiles to look at. “Look at the canines on that one, Kristin! I could marry him.” I’d be showing my friend to get her approval.
Other times you can only see that Ted is 37, posed with his cat and lives 4 miles away. Does Ted have a job? Does Ted want a relationship? Does Ted live in his grandma’s basement? You can’t really be sure of anything until you actually meet face-to-face. All you definitely know is that, at 4 miles away, you can hop in your car and be in Ted’s lap in 10 minutes tops. Nothing more depressing than driving 37 minutes, depending on traffic, time of day, and if you take Sweeten Creek or Hendersonville Road, to have disappointing sex with a stranger. I prefer to not waste gas on mediocre sex, just sayin’.
Look, I know it’s starting to sound like I think I am all that and deserve better. Not true at all. I miss the peak of the pandemic when I was a solid Covid 9/10. Now that the masks are coming off, I got bumped back down to my reality: a 6.5 to 7/10 on a good hair day. Am I the hottest girl out there? No. Do I have the best body? Definitely not, but I bet my little kangaroo pouch you aren’t gonna find someone funnier or more enthusiastic about good sex. If that’s not enough, remember, I’ve never had a cavity, my credit score is 816, I have a bachelor’s degree, I am a Navy veteran, have a good job, own my own house and car, and like to think I am a good mother. How am I still single? No clue.
Another medium-sized dream of mine is to find an equally flawed and yet amazing man (or woman – still not ruling that out) that I can tolerate for the rest of my life. So I continue to swipe, in hopes of finding Mr. or Mrs. Good Enough. Nobody is perfect. Not even me.
The beauty of Tinder is the fact you have to match with someone before you can have a conversation with them. You can swipe left or right through a deck of people after you create your profile. If you swipe left, you’re giving them the “Randy Jackson” – it’s a no from me, dog. Swipe right and you are saying, yeah, that looks like a face I could wake up to. You can tap on each main picture to see additional pics, or read their detailed profile if you care about more than just looks. Often times you’ll be mindlessly swiping and accidentally swipe left on Prince Charming. Whoops, now he’s gone forever! That is, unless you pay for Tinder. Then you can go back and fetch Justin when you messed up and recklessly kicked him to the curb. I don’t pay for Tinder, so no taskesies backsies for me. I probably have mistakenly Randy Jackson’d the man of my dreams. That’d be my luck.
If you match with someone, it means that each of you swiped right on the other at some point. “It’s A Match!” flashes across your screen. Now either of you can start up a conversation. Hopefully he leads with something better than, “WYD?” If someone’s first question is WYD, it means they only want to be FWB and are DTF TONIGHT. If you give out your phone number to that person, you will immediately be gifted a picture of their penis, guaranteed. I’ve said I only need 22 more dick pics and I’ll be able to wallpaper my half bath with them. Shiplap? No, dicklap! You’ve never seen that on HGTV, and I am hoping it trends. Kidding. That was awhile ago, and now I only need 17 more pics.
Fear not, there actually are good people on Tinder. After all, I am one. You just have to be vigilant and keep swiping. I used to think you had to know what you wanted up front, either something casual or more of a long term relationship. Not so. I’ve had the best dates when I just kept the expectations to a minimum. Be you. Know what your boundaries and bottom lines are. Don’t compromise. Mr. or Mrs. Good Enough is right around the corner. I can feel it in my little kangaroo pouch.
Tinder on party people and follow me on Facebook.
Stay tuned. Stay weird. Leave the lights on lesbians.
Previously: Introduction to The WAXlorette