Is This Thing Broken?

Someone call 9-1-1. My thumb is dead.

Some wise person once said, “The best way to get over a man is to get under another.” In the aftermath of the breakup with Anthony, I decided to take that advice — minus the directive to sleep with a random dude — and headed back to the apps.

The fucking apps.

Tinder ✅
Hinge ✅
Bumble ✅✅✅

I re-downloaded the usual suspects to the discreet “Dating” folder on my personal matchmaker — also known as my iPhone X — and got to swiping.

A funny thing happens when you match with someone on a dating app, meet him in real life and then ditch the app because the living, breathing version of a man is better than the one-dimensional version: you forget how crappy it is to shop for a companion.

Maybe my standards went up after dating Anthony, or maybe all of the decent prospects were picked up while I was in the off-season, but it seems nearly impossible to find one guy I would even consider allowing to think about possibly asking me to contemplate him tempting me to go out on a first date. For real.

A girlfriend and I spent a recent Happy Hour siting side by side at a bar, legs crossed, heads down, frantically swiping. Up, down, left or ❌. NEXT! Repeat. The only time our eyes gazed upward was to help guide our hands toward the awaiting alcholic beverages. Occasionally, one of us would hit on a “good one” and eagerly turn to the other for approval.

He’s alright. He has a nose with character, though.

YAS! Where is he from? Brooklyn?! Nope.

Oh, he has a cute dog…and lives with his mother. 🙄


If this is how I’m supposed to get “under” a new man in order to get over Anthony, then consider me still standing…alone…swiping left.

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