Dear Internet, I’m a liar

Last night I did something that I’d previously said I never would. At 2.45am, Sunday morning actually, the 13th of December 2015 I deleted my Tinder account. Now I’m not saying that it’s forever however it is, for now. It wasn’t a thought out choice but rather a spur of the moment decision, as I drifted off to sleep and the low hum of my phone awoke me, I stared with shock (at behaviour I should be immune to now) as yet another sexist message flashed across my screen in the early hours of the morning.
That’s it, I’d had my fun. If you call endless dull conversations with strangers, that inevitably slide into poorly worded sexual innuendos fun – which I did, for a while at least. Like I’ve said before, there is plenty of hilarity to be found in the world of online dating and many have found long lasting relationships – which is excellent however it sure isn’t easy.

I could blame it on a single message but truly I’d be kidding myself, it wasn’t anything in particular that pushed me over the edge – I’d rather been enjoying the banter, using much of it as inspiration for musings and comedy however all of a sudden I realised how ridiculous the whole thing was. The best ideas come in the middle of the night, they say, and for now, I think that this one really has been good. I did, however, have nightmares after I drifted off to sleep; fearing that I’d made the wrong choice. Dramatic, yes – that’s me in a nutshell.

The downsides to Tinder though had become clear to me – I was beginning to get paranoid that matches from the site would see me out and about. I put enough of myself out into the world without doing it via an app that lets you – neigh, encourages you, to message strangers when under the influence of copious amounts of booze. With the party season in full swing and many more occasions ahead, I could feel that trouble would be brewing. I’d find myself at a table at a party, swiping like my life depended on it, acquiring match after match who I’d likely only chat to simply to prove that people these days are just terrible. The irony of which does not go un-noticed by me, I just chose to ignore it.
I am done though – done with the barrage of sexist messages, comments assuming that I’d go alright (in bed) – they’re right, I’m great in bed – however what gives them the right to make that judgement of a complete stranger? Oh yeah, Tinder. I’m hoping that now I’ve deleted my online dating profile that I’ll never again have a stranger offer to ‘stick his cock in my mouth’ or send me a photo of their genitals – unrequested, thank you very much. Sure, dicks are great – handy, but not attractive and certainly not something that I like to receive via photo message on a Sunday afternoon, other than for the comedic value, there is little other to appreciate. I’m also done with chatting to guys who later reveal that they have a girlfriend – or worse, a wife, and still expect to continue the conversation. Sure – they could have waited until after we’d met up, dated, that would be worse – but way to go and destroy my faith in humanity and belief in the dream that respectful relationships exist. Thanks Tinder users.

It was fun while it lasted and hey, I certainly got some tales to tell. I never say never – wait until the winter chill rolls around and I’ll likely be singing a completely different song but for now, Tinder and I are unmatched.

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