I’m trying to remember back to a time when Tinder was all shiny and new, and believe me, it’s a hard task.  I can’t even remember the lucky guy’s name that popped my Tinder cherry but nevertheless we shall press on.

It was around Christmastime and I was chatting to a guy who was here from Perth visiting his family.  He was cute, tall and funny – sure why not?  We arranged to meet at a local bar that weekend and I deliberately arrived first so I could suss him out as he was approaching.  He looked like his pictures, was 6’1 as stated in his profile and we actually had a lot in common.  Well played, Tinder!  We took turns buying cocktail jugs over a couple of hours (no dinner) and not surprisingly we got pretty smashed.

I suggested we go upstairs where there was a dance floor area (a tactic so we could get a bit closer, wink wink), and it was only then that I realised that although he was tall, he wasn’t very built.  He was quite skinny… Like I’m talking my bicep > his.  We had been sitting across from each other for our entire date and I had quite a different physical perception of him from seated to standing.  Shallow right?  I wasn’t ready to write him off just yet but then he started dancing and he was quite possibly the worst dancer I’d ever seen.

Although concerning, these weren’t total deal breakers and I was willing to continue the night until he leaned in and kissed me… DEATH BREATH!  Nope, sorry, that’ll do me!  There are few things that deter me more than someone lacking basic hygiene.  Strike 3, it was over.

He excused himself to go to the bathroom and it was then that it drunkenly hit me;  I could stay and do the polite, yet awkward goodbye which could possibly end with us leaving together anyway because I was quite intoxicated, or I was going to take the coward’s way out and leave right then and there.  I opted for the latter, and with a flourish, threw my drink down (which had barely a sip taken out of it) and physically ran out of the bar, not stopping till I was in a cab.

My foggy mind came up with nothing better than, “My sister has been in a fight and I had to go to her”, sent via text.  We were in Sydney’s eastern suburbs, not the Freedom Writers movie.  Even if she had been in a fight, how long does it take a guy to pee, seriously?  Unless he was planning to brush his teeth in there which I sincerely doubted.  He replied. “Fair enough”.

He text me again the following morning to say he’d had a great time with me and I did feel pretty bad.  In hindsight it wasn’t even comparable to some of the horrors I’ve had since, but all’s fair in love and Tinder.

Signing off,

CVC