Disclaimer: I wrote this column style story for a creative writing class last year. It is purely fiction.
Week 24. Swipe Right if You Enjoy Travelling, Depression and White Wine
Just because I feel you don’t know enough personal information about me, here’s another fact: My lady part has become a shriveled dried-up plum. I won’t tell you how long it’s been but it’s been a while, trust me.
So when my psychologist told me last Monday that I should allow myself to open up to people and possibly give dating a chance again, I immediately knew what had to be done.
I needed to get laid.
The sun was shining and I left the two bars of chocolate on my shelve untouched for once – I was feeling good that day. Some hours later, I took my first steps in opening up. With the help of a few glasses of cheap sauvignon blanc, the frightening but somehow enticing Tinder was downloaded on my phone.
God, that red flame is so deceitful. My apologies for not understanding what’s passionate about sitting on the toilet, moving your thumb to the left eighty times per minute while you’re taking a massive shit.
And then, when you finally match with a cute face, you actually need to start a conversation. I should have thought of that beforehand.. Starting conversations with complete strangers is never fun. It doesn’t help when the only thing that I have in common with these people is that our standards were both low enough to swipe one another to the right.
“How are you?”
“I feel okay right now, but an hour ago I was crying my eyes out because I forgot to buy bread. How about you?”
“What are your plans this weekend?”
“Well, a friend invited me to a party but I’m quite sure my crippling social anxiety will prevent me from going last-minute. So I guess I’ll watch a Netflix documentary in my new dress on Saturday night.”
Off-putting you say? I’m just opening up to new people..
Last Tuesday I was not having a great day. Surprisingly, that actually helped me in my Tinder enterprise. While moaning about meaninglessness and my hatred of the world (and myself), it suddenly came to me that I shouldn’t give a fuck about anything. A true angelic experience. Let’s just ask that hot Tinder guy out. It really doesn’t matter anyway. Maybe not exactly the reasoning my doctor would be proud of, but at least the second step was made.
The following Friday I forced myself out of the door, the self-loathing and anguish hidden under three layers of make-up and a skin-tight dress. I looked as perfect as a Barbie doll. The ones that have huge sweat stains under their armpits and boobs though.
Let’s start with the positive. The guy was hot. Greek God hot. But I realize my expectations were too high. I wanted a fairy tale, a prince that would take me to Unicorn World, lead me away from my problems.
Surprise! That did not happen.
So here I am the morning after, not getting out of bed for a long while. It’s just one of those days. Hot Tinder guy was lovely, but I didn’t feel an immediate connection. I haven’t replied to him and I don’t think I will.
After giving ‘dating’ a chance, I have not found new love and I still feel alone. To still end on a positive note: at least my hoo-ha is not dried-up anymore.