Strange Tinderlude

“Do you think that maybe the reason you haven’t get any second dates is because you’ve told then you’re writing a blog about it?” Greg says. We’re at the Old Bull and Bush, sitting outside. I’ve torn myself away from France vs Switzerland which was 4 -0 to France at 72 minutes when I left the house (it would finish 5 -2).
“I don’t know,” I say. I’m sure his profile says he’s 6ft 3, I think, whereas he isn’t any taller than me and dressed in the ubiquitous banker-white shirt. Or maybe I’m confusing him with one of the others.
“Well you have to decide, I think,” he says, sipping his Sauvignon. “Either you’re using Tinder to try to meet someone, or you’re using it as a research tool.”
I think about this. This is the first chat of this type that I’ve had with one of the chaps: possibly because as soon as I caught sight of Greg I decided that I didn’t fancy him. This is the first date where I haven’t been flirting with the poor sap: “being flirted with by you is being hit on the head repeatedly by a pink fluffy hammer,” an ex-boyfriend once told me, or I said it about myself, I can’t remember. Anyway, I’m not flirting with Greg and therefore we’re not talking about our childhoods or our university experiences or our work but we are having a far more theoretical chat.
“Why do I have to decide though?” I say. “Why can’t I play Tinder to try to meet someone and also write a blog about it?”
“If you’re writing about it, you will seek out men and dates that you believe will make a good story,” Greg says, “rather than just meeting people and seeing if, and how, you get on with them.”
I remember the polo player incident, and nod.
“Maybe I’m not serious about meeting someone then,” I say. “If I had to choose one out of publishing a book about my Tinder experiences or meeting a boyfriend, I’d rather get a book out of it. My writing is good, this blog is good, whereas of course I’m rubbish at dating, which is why I’ve had such poor results from it.”
“Maybe you’re approaching it wrong,” Greg says. He has a good face, I think, it’s just his height that let’s him down. And possibly his manner: he’s a bit forceful for my tastes – forceful about pressing his point of view in a discussion that is. Being argued with is not one of my interests – especially when the chap isn’t really listening and interrupts me.
“Maybe I’m having fun?” I say. “Maybe I’m enjoying going on some dates and writing about them.” And I am enjoying it, I realise: enjoying the blogging more than the dating but still I am relishing the dressing up, the encounters with new boys, the flirting. Finally, after my Annus Horribilis, I’m having fun, I realise. And that is part of the point of this whole project.

5 thoughts on “Strange Tinderlude

  1. Brilliant – best yet. Who do you think made the comment about the punk fluffy hammer?Made Angela and me laugh out loud, and little Noah looked at us as though wondering why we’d turned into giggling children.

    Sent from my iPhone



  2. Pingback: Strange Tinderlude | TinderNews

    • Thank you darling. Let’s see if there’s a narrative then, or even, as my brother likes to say, an idea. He thinks books need ideas and can’t just be made up of me banging on and on about my various disorders and what everyone was wearing…


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