I'm back and I have re-downloaded Tinder. I want to believe that I will still meet Mr. Right or even Mr Right-Now in a bar in real life. I'd probably slip on a leaf and he'd catch me and he'd embrace me for being unapologetically myself and laugh when my parents tell him how shy I used to be. Then, I woke up.
Tinder is a funny place. The latest match was psychologically fascinating. I keep thinking if I ever decide to hang up the mic, I'd love to go back to school and study psychology. Maybe, I will anyway. The bio on his profile said that he wanted someone who could maintain a conversation. HELLO. ME. I thought, well we've matched, I'll let him send the first message. I think it's a good leveller to see if they are actually looking for a date or if they are just playing Tinder Snap.
He asked a question, I responded with a question and he answered it. So then I responded to his answer and asked another question. Then he answered it. So I attempted a conversation again by pushing back. And, once more, he answered it. I gave up. Then 22 minutes later, he came back with a question. After stating he wanted someone who could hold a conversation. Then, he proceeded to tell me about his diabetes and his STI check up. No offence but we haven't even had a Woo Woo together yet. I checked out and once again deleted Tinder.
This one is G - for Gaston.
Turns out G was a busy letter for me - I literally have a Gary, a Gavin, a George, a Glen, a Gay Daniel (??), Gerry the Greek (WTF!). I've opted to tell you about Gaston.
He's not really called, although that is obviously a great name for your child and I encourage you all after this year's Beauty and the Beast to consider it. Rather, he was an actor. He's not dead - he IS an actor. When we met, he was playing Gaston in panto. My psychic said I'd end up with someone "theatrical" so I went with it.
I think ol' Gaston was the least fairytale date I've ever had. But, what a character. We're still friends. Well, we are on Facebook. Everywhere, we went - including the night we met - seemed to involve drag queens, which I am not opposed to. He really did make me laugh. He said things like "trag", which I believe is short for tragic and then he told me that he didn't have a lot of friends growing up. I asked if that's because he used words like "trag".
After a few too many abbreviations, we kind of stopped the dates and continued a relationship of teacher and student. I taught him what a full word sounds like and he taught me patience. Or as he calls it "paish".Suggest a correction