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I am trying to find a way to be clever and different from the troglodytes on these dating apps…
Troglodyte? Five points to the guy for using an SAT word correctly.
I’m branching out and trying something new. Would you be interested in a really different first date? A dance lesson? I’m tired of coffee-shop speed dating and I have two left feet (full disclosure). Want to meet up for some fun? David. His username is NiceGuysFinish.
Huh.
David’s photo shows a vague, generic image of a broad-shouldered guy with muscular arms wearing a tight t-shirt, jeans, flip flops, and a baseball cap, walking a golden retriever on the beach. I do a reverse image search. Nope. Not a stock photo or stolen from anywhere in the photo database. Doesn’t come up as a profile picture for any public social media account. Hmmm.
What? You don’t reverse image everyone? I might be naïve about pornography film sets, but I’m savvy when it comes to sex scammers on the internet. Especially scammers I might sleep with. Bad sex is bad enough. Bad sex with someone who pretends to be someone they’re not is so much worse.
Because then you feel like you slept with someone other than the person you agreed to sleep with.
Not that I would know.
Ask poor Perky all about it, though.
My phone buzzes with a text. It’s Fiona.
Go for Dance Guy! she says.
I do a double take.
How do you know about Dance Guy? I ask, groaning internally. Once we name these people, they become more real, and how can I say no to someone we’ve named? It’s like feeding a stray cat in your neighborhood. Do it once and it’s yours forever.
Perk and I downloaded the app and are monitoring your account. We knew you’d ignore it, so we’re doing this for your own good.
Of course they are.
You asshole, I text back.
Except… I accidentally type that in the message box in the dating app, hitting Send before I realize my mistake.
I get an immediate reply, even before blood flow has been restored to my brain.
Normally I don’t get called names until the date’s over. This is refreshing :), David replies.
Mortified laughter pours out of me as I hover over the reply bar, wondering what to type.
I finally decide on: I’m branching out and trying something new, too.
If you’re looking for a guy who’s a sub and into being degraded, sorry. Not my kink, he responds.
Bummer, I type back. Have to give you the boot.
Is that a dancing boot? If so, say yes. Come on. Try me. I promise I’m a nice guy.
They all say that.
I know we all say that, but the odds are that some of us are telling the truth, he adds, as if reading my mind.
Bzzzzz.
My phone makes it impossible to ignore the text. I flip over to read:
Are you flirting with Dance Guy in the app? Fiona texts.
Leave me alone. I accidentally called him an asshole because of you, I reply.
