So my last blog post promised that I would share the details of what has now become known amongst my friends as ‘The Great Tinder Escape.’ This is a promise that I regretted almost immediately after I hit the publish button. Perhaps if my blog was anonymous then it might be easier to share the gory details of my unsuccessful love life, but hey ho. Here I am about to share with all the world (including my mother) the trials and tribulations I face in the 21st century dating world.
Before you read any further, I have just one thing to ask of you. If you know me (outside of cyber world) please don’t judge me on the basis of what you read in this post. If you’re my mother then all I ask is that you don’t read any further but I can probably be sure that that won’t happen.
So unless you have been living under a rock, without any contact from the rest of the world for the past year, then you will have heard of Tinder. If you haven’t then let me explain. Tinder is in the loosest sense of the term, a dating app. Users create a profile using a handful of their favourite Facebook pictures and can (if they feel it’s neccesary) add a short bio for their potential suitors to ignore. Tinderers then simply swipe right or left to choose whether they want to connect (electronically) with someone else. Sounds like the perfect basis for building a deep and meaningful relationship…right?
However shallow Tinder might be, it is fun and addictive. Each ‘match’ being a slight boost to the ego. So I gave it a go. Yes, that is past tense, and I’m about to tell you why.
I was on Tinder for a few months. It provided a nice distraction from normality. When my life was filled with diet and training plans it was nice to be able to leave that all behind in favour of some online attention. Obviously with the nature of the app, there are a whole lot of guys whose main aims are not marriage but I became quite proficient in getting rid of them early on. After weeks of messaging, it seemed that I should take the next step and actually meet one of my tinder matches. So Davey and I set a date. We were to meet in Clapham and have a quiet drink. I followed cyber protocol, chose a bar to meet in and had one of my friends on stand-by should it all go horribly wrong.
Tinder Warning Number One: The camera LIES!! Alot! Davey looked absolutely nothing like his tinder profile. It seemed that photoshop had been employed to make Davey look alot more athletic and aestethically pleasing than he actually was. Tinder also failed to highlight the amount of San Tropez Davey used. However natural he may have insisted his colour was, the tan stains which circled his once white shirt collar were hard to miss.
Apart from the lack of chemistry, Davey and I had a pleasant evening and although we never arranged a second date, we still occasionally snapchat or message eachother, so I guess in terms of Tinder, not a total disaster.
It took me a few months before I agreed to Tinder date number two. After Davey, I had decided that I would keep tinder simply for entertainment purposes but in August, I matched with a guy named Paul.I should mention at this point that his name was not really Paul but as we have mutual friends, I think it’s best for both of us if I use an alias.
Paul seemed different to the other guys I had messaged on Tinder. For a start we did have mutual friends and he was Irish so we already had some common ground to work off. He was a qualified teacher and was planning on going back to University to train as a Quantity Surveyor. From what I gathered, he was ambitious, an admirable trait, and he managed to come across as funny which can be hard to do over text/type. So we decided that we’d meet on a Friday evening after work. However, it was I who made the first mistake. I went to a leaving do for one of my colleagues. I had decided out of courtesy that I would attend and have one glass of wine. Alas one glass of wine led to several more, so when date day fell, I was not feeling the freshest. I quickly admitted this to Paul via text, hoping for a reprieval but to no avail. By the time I had made it to the end of the working day, I was tired and grumpy! Not a great way to begin a first date.
Paul, to give him credit did actually resemble his profile, which was a positive start. However I quickly realised that this date was going to be extremely one sided. Paul dominated the conversation from the offset. He enthusiastically told me about his travels and his background and how much he had achieved in his life. How much money he had earned and how much money he had spent and how much money he was going to earn when he retrained. Perhaps Paul was trying to impress but he was way off the mark. After making it through dinner, I decided that hair of the dog might make this evening a bit more bearable and I thought to myself that I was being too harsh because of my hangover. So when Paul suggested a post dinner drink, I agreed. He suggested that we go for a drink in Clapham and I thought that this was a great idea. It was only on the tube out to Clapham when Paul suggested that he leave his bag in my house that his alterior motives became apparent. He talked about getting the train home the following morning and I realised that he had assumed that he was staying with me. Not a chance of it.
I made straight for the Alex, a popular Irish bar beside Clapham Common, hoping desperately that I might spy a familiar face. Paul grabbed a table out the front and after taking a swig of my pint I resolved to be more positive and joined him. Thankfully the conversation became much more balanced. He even started asking questions about me. I was midway through telling him how I came to live in London when he cut me off mid sentence. He cut me off so that he could interrupt the conversation of another couple at a table next to us do that he could correct them on whatever they’d been talking about!
I should have cut my losses and ran at that very moment but I knew that Paul was going to be hard to shake off. It was clear that Paul had no intention to return to his own bed that night but equally there was absolutely no way that he was getting into mine!!
About an hour and two pubs later, things were going just as badly but Paul seemed oblivious to how much the date was bombing. There was only one option, deploy the emergency phone call. I texted a friend and explained that I needed her to call me in 15 minutes.
Sitting in a pub on Clapham high street he leaned in for the kiss. How he did not see the sheer terror in my eyes is beyond me but in the split second I weighed up the options. I could either avoid the kiss and have to endure more dull chat or I could kiss him and wait for my phone to ring. The latter seemed the less painful answer!
It reminded me of one of those kisses from my early teens at junior discos. Not quite knowing where to put your hands and both parties not sure how or when the kiss should finish. Thankfully, the kiss was broken by the sound of my phone ringing. I looked at the screen and recognised Lizzie’s number. Apologising to Paul, I picked up the phone and signalled to him that I was going outside to hear better. I picked up my bag and walked out. Only thing is, I never went back.
I don’t know how long Paul sat there minding our two drinks or if he went outside to look for me. But less than 15 minutes later, I was slipping into some fleecy pyjamas, make up off and into my bed. Perhaps if Paul had seen such a vision he might not have been so keen on staying with me after all!
I slept soundly that night, it wasn’t until I woke up on Saturday morning that I felt my conscience starting to kick in. That’s when I decided that Tinder is not the app for me. I’ve decided that I’ll try my hand at finding my other half the old fashioned way by going out into the world and actually interacting with real people!* I haven’t deleted the app though. It’s a great way to pass train journeys!
Needless to say that apart from a rather curt text message, I haven’t been in contact with Paul since we ‘parted ways’ in Clapham. I do however walk past the uni he attends every day on my way home from work but so far (buíochas le Dia) our paths have not crossed. Perhaps some day we will meet again and I can apologise for my moonlit flit or maybe he’ll read this post and realise that my actions were not a true reflection of who I really am. The more likely option is that Paul returned home and told his friends about the emotionally unstable Cavan girl that he met on the internet and weirdly, I’m ok with that!
*Disclaimer: Real world romance has not proved anymore fruitful, however I think I’ll share that with my therapist rather than the internet! 😉
anitamaguire 