By Laura Van Antwerp—
The candles are lit. There’s smooth jazz playing in the background. I’m wearing my finest pair of oversized, coffee-stained sweatpants. And the thought suddenly dawns on me.
“You know what? I think I’m gonna Tinder!”
Not familiar with the global phenomena that’s recently taken over the world? Allow me to explain.
Tinder is a phone application where you check out people’s pics and either swipe to the right to say “YES, I WOULD PROBABLY BONE YOU IN SOME DARK ALLEYWAY” or to the left to say “I WOULDN’T TOUCH YOU WITH A 20 FOOT POLE OR GLOVED HANDS”. If you match (as in they swiped right for you as well), then you can chat them up.
Essentially, Tinder is an app for people who are either too cheap to pay for eHarmony or too lazy to go out to the bar and put in some good old-fashioned hard work towards getting laid.
In short—IT’S THE GREATEST THING SINCE SLICED BREAD!
At least according to a recent number crunch by Bloomberg, which valued the 20 month old start-up at a whopping 5 BILLION DOLLARS! *sigh* Why didn’t I think of it first?
But I digress. It’s time to Tinder, baby!
First, I decide to tweak (twerk?) my profile.
Ya like that? It says “Hey, I’m fun, active, and occasionally gassy!” Of course, I leave plenty of room for mystery.
Once I finish pruning my profile, it’s game on! But instead of carefully examining the profiles of all my prospective dark alleyway encounters, I decide to take a more unorthodox approach.
I turn the phone away from me and without even looking at any of the photos, I proceed to aggressively swipe right to EVERY SINGLE GUY!
That’s right! Everybody gets a fair chance! Why discriminate?!
Plus I was curious to see just how many guys were into gassy girls!
Apparently, quite a few!
Join me in a Tinder-venture!
I then decide to really stir some interest by uploading a photo in the ‘Moments’ section of Tinder, which is basically a snapchat that goes out to all my Tinder matches.
Why this photo? Because nothing says HAWT like a pancake ass in frumpy sweats!!!
Apparently, frumpy butts are right up someone’s alley!
I decide to send out another tantalizing ‘Moments’ snapchat to my cluster of admirers, because nothing says “Howdy, pardner” quite like a raging camel-toe in an oversized pair of ill-fitting sweatpants that once belonged to a 6’3” boyfriend.
Strangely enough, some men are not to be deterred.
(This guy promptly deleted me before I even had a chance to correct my typo! I meant to say ‘a whole’ instead of ‘while’. Either way, good for him!)
Things are going really well for me in the world of Tinder!
When I ask Meech how her own Tinder-venture is coming along, she sends me the following screenshot.
Get it girl!
After a day or so I have what seems like a billion matches! I haven’t felt this overwhelmed since I took on too many games of ‘Words With Friends’ a few years back!
AHHHHHH!!!!! TOO MANY DUDES!
I can’t keep up with them all! I know they are probably all really nice guys, but I feel like I am being cornered in a dark bar by a bunch of glassy-eyed creepers. Plus how can you trust anyone who’s willing to settle with someone who wears oversized sweatpants and suffers from perpetual gas?
I decide I can’t take it anymore. So after a few days of attempting to find the perfect match for my gassy assy, I delete Tinder from my phone.
And just like that, for the umpteenth time, I’ve exited the Tindersphere.
Leaving no trace—except for maybe a slight, digital crop-dust.