Virgin Tinder Date
1 week on the app and I was all set for the virgin experience of going on a date with someone I swiped left on Tinder — Boy A.
Boy A is a full-time gigging musician who does small acting jobs on the side. One of his pictures on the app got him looking a little like an Asian version of Jason Mraz, with the guitar and that hat.
I can’t date someone who doesn’t like music. (Else who is going to sing Backstreet Boys together with me when it comes on in the car?) He evidently loves music — big tick! (Not dick, what were you thinking?) Another pic showed him in a suit. He seemed lean and tall — score! We had two words similar in our Tinder bios: “good conversation” . I spelt the second word wrong — which he pointed out in his opening line to me. A fellow grammar nazi? Sure. I obliged. I would gladly wel-cum someone who could correct my English.
What ensued was some back and forth on Tinder, which moved to WhatsApp, and then even to nightly phone calls for 1 week. Then came DATE NIGHT. We were going to have DTF — Din Tai Fung (a massive chinese restaurant chain), NOT Down to Fuck. Oh boy, the superficial side of me was screaming on the inside. He was probably just 1 cm taller than me and I was surely bigger than him. He held my hand, gave me a kiss on the cheek. Habit blew over me, I reciprocated. But oh my, it felt like I was greeting my younger brother (who does not exist!). Conversation over dinner was about family, career etc. We’ve already shared a fair amount of background info over the week, so this was just an extension of it.
I picked up, however, on little things that I knew would annoy me — like how he would talk, in angst, about how his vocalist was straddling two bands like a whore, and his band wasn’t getting as many gigs as her other band. He prided himself on how he didn’t send her an angsty/bitchy text. I’ve been in a band before, and I knew I needed to work with different musicians for different gigs. I also knew if I really wanted to enter the gig scene it meant that I would have to hustle. The fact that all he could do was bitch, was a major turn off. I wanna hear about how you hustled and got those gigs you ‘lost’.
I did NOT wanna hear you talk about it like a lil’ bitch whose ice-cream got toppled over on the street. You fucking go get yourself another ice-cream, lil’ bitch.
We adjourn from DTF to a nearby bar/cafe where he recalls his days of yonder where he would drink everyday and how badass he was. He talked about it in such a way that he tried to cover up that face that he was actually bragging. I studied Psychology so I could totally see through this! “Bitch, do you know who you talking to?” was what went on in my head. I don’t think bragging about how much you used to drink is very attractive. I’ve been there, done that and it ain’t pretty. At the age of 30, you should have some form of self-confidence and sureness of character to not need it as a chip of confidence at the table of dating.
I feigned sleepiness and offer to send him home. When we got to his block, he leaned in for a kiss. Thank God I had ulcers that week, which I used as an excuse to fend off more advances. He holds my hand and says he feels absolutely comfortable with me and he “likes this”. I smile. We say goodbye.
Fast forward: I told him the next day that we should just be friends. He said he was upset and needed time. After ONE day of “time”, he texts and says he wants to be friends. I agree. Of course, I did not continue with the same frequency of contact because I was no longer interested, romantically. He started getting passive aggressive which I picked up on and told him that having less contact would be better. He replies me with a friggin’ essay of a message on how I’ve broken his heart and he isn’t over me yet.
WHAT THE FUCK? Did I just step out of a 3 year relationship that I didn’t know about? Absolutely ridiculous. I swore off Tinder that day.
Five hours later, in bed, she swiped. She, being me.