Taking a Swipe


Yesterday, I reached the end of Tinder.

I logged on and the orange circular ripples which graphically emanate from your photo (Are those supposed to be pheromones?) smacked into no one.  It’s not that they didn’t attract anyone. It’s that no one was there.  I know this because once my aura stopped out-putting, my phone told me, “There’s no one new near you.”

I needed an app to tell me that.

Tinder is- I’m told- a “hook-up” dating app but my single friend, Tina, who uses it and who talked me into the daring download, has met one or two nice people to date, rather than escort.  It works like sonar, dredging up faces from the depths of God knows where, and puts them onto your phone. It tells you how far away they are, in miles, from you.  It does not provide an ETA nor does it scan for wives and girlfriends.  If you do not like the face, you swipe left. If you do like the face you swipe right. If the person you swiped handsome has also swiped you pretty then your phone makes a noise (Do not do this in a theater.) and a fancy “match” graphic appears.  “It’s like you won at the slot machine!” says Tina. But no money comes out.

Once, in a frenzied series of left swipes, I got a glance at a kind and cute face (he was probably holding a dog) but my hand failed my brain. I am now “matched” with a fat, hairy 61- year- old in a hot tub. There is no un-swiping, or de-swiping. I showed The Tinder to my friend, Jon. I made the mistake of letting go of my phone. Now I am matched with a man-and his geese. I said geese.

I have a girlfriend who is currently incarcerated.  I wrote and told her about Tinder. Even she thinks it’s preposterous and she’s doing time.

Generally, I have not had good luck on dating sites. One very charming fellow I met on “Zoosk” wound up in jail. Another, a doctor, told me I was too smart for him. Yet another CIA type canceled three dates in a row. Not willing to be whisked away on a flight to Syria, I canceled the fourth.

I’m not sure if I need an IT department, or help with my personal grooming.

I am aware my lack of Tinder loving care makes me sound like an old lady and I am an old lady for this particular genre.  I have tried “Our Time” upon which I am a spring chicken and therefore, practically consumable by the over-seventy crowd.   I tried E-Harmony and after answering two hours- worth of  what-color-is-your-parachute questions, it chugged away for a moment before finally admitting, there simply was no match for me.  Like most of my electronics, I am incompatible.

Tinder is clearly for a hipper crowd than mine.  I need more than a swooshing slide-by to peak my interest.  And clearly the depth of my charm is simply not fathomable online.  Tinder, I left-swipe thee and all that you emanate. It’s not you, it’s me. Wait, no, it’s you.  But I hope we can remain friends.