Tinder: The Final Chapter

The Wizard was the first match that I genuinely wanted to meet. He had red hair and brown eyes, and ... the rest I’m not sure. He advertised himself as having a hot tub and that he was wizard. I know the way I’m describing this sounds like he dressed up as a wizard and played Dungeons and Dragons but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Further? Whatever. He wore polo shirts and seemed like he had a good sense of humor. Maybe he could truly perform magic. Who knows?

I opened by asking him if his hot tub had a time machine. Turns out it did. So all the people saying time travel isn’t real are full of it. This guy has one.

So the wizard said he was sold by my charm and wit and that he would take me on a romantic date. Which I of course told him that I expected there to be fireworks and that I couldn’t wait for him to pull up in a carriage with white horses. That’s how dates work now right?

So he said of course, and that he’d be sure to have a bouquet of red roses as well. It was a date. Well, except for the actual date and time. Something that in hindsight is actually quite common in dating land today: Say you’re going to go on a date, plan nothing.

So I expected him to actually do that. Foolish naive me. Over the next week he would text me and invite me over to use his hot tub. I repeatedly informed him that going to a strangers house and getting in their hot tub is typically something for prostitutes and trespassers, and that I was promised a romantic date, which getting into a strangers hot tub is the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard of. Unless you were on a date a trespassing into a strangers hot tub. The details are iffy here, you gotta take things as they come.

So after I suggested meeting him at a dog park to walk around since he lived around the corner, and he AGAIN suggested the hot tub, I came to the dawning realization that perhaps Tinder isn’t for dating. I know, shocking.

So I told him no, and that this was pointless and a waste of time, and he said “whatever.”

Ladies and gentlemen, the charm of dating in this day and age.


I don’t actually remember the next matches name, so hopefully when I call him Colin his name wasn’t actually Colin. That would be awkward. (Sorry Colin!).

He had two photos, no height (seeing as I’m a tall girl this should’ve been a red flag, but when have I ever acknowledged those? I prefer giant avoidable mistakes.), but had pretty eyes? I’m a sucker for brown eyes. Don’t tell anyone.

So he didn’t even come up with a clever opener but instead immediately asked if I wanted to grab a drink, one bus ride, and five blocks from my work. I was bored and I like alcohol, so why not?

This is the same attitude that gets me into a lot of trouble most of the time. Well not trouble... okay yes trouble. But I’m innately curious. 

I’m not curious about the man who’s coughing, gagging, and spitting a gallon of mucus onto the ground around the corner and ranting in Spanish. (Thanks again, man on the corner of Market and 8th) I pick and choose my curiosity battles. But when it seems relatively safe, and I’ve never done it before, I’m all for it. I like surprises.

Circling back, I met him at some dingy bar because I’d never been there and didn’t know it was a dingy bar. I didn’t see him when I walked in and I ordered a beer. When he approached me, he was my height when I was sitting in the bar stool. It’s rude to just walk out then right? He was about 5’3”. I’m 5’7”. Yes yes, personality matters and if he hadn’t seemed like he was high on some kind of amphetamine, I might’ve stuck around longer than an hour.

That’s right. I, in my infinite wisdom, stayed an hour at a dingy bar with a miniature stranger, who was possibly on drugs, in order to not hurt his feelings. I told you I make great decisions, right?

We covered that already? Perfect.

So I tried repeatedly to buy my own beer. I had two, to be polite. I was unable to ignore the fact that the table of four guys next to us knew it was an online date, and found the whole thing hilarious. I wanted to run off and join their table. They were actually having a good time. I was cringing and trying to tell a crazy person as little as possible about my life. I then *suddenly* had to run off to meet my friends for dinner.

I’m sure he knew. But we all abide by social norms and pretend we don’t notice these completely obvious lies in order to protect our egos. So hopefully in Colin’s semi-coherent mind I genuinely did meet a friend for dinner and I didn’t go home to share this horror show with four friends, drink vodka, and eat a frozen pizza. Pepperoni with olives.

And so concluded my adventures on Tinder. I deleted the app that night and never thought of it again. Except to write this. Let’s move on.

All my love,



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