Tinder.

We all know this,

but Tinder is the worst.

But maybe it'll be fun!

you think.

It works for other people.

But you're wrong

nearly every time.

All that happens

is you become obsessed

with sifting through

pictures of strangers,

ages 23-29,

who live within 20 miles of you.

You end up

reinforcing your stereotypes,

boxing yourself into

a narrower and narrower space.

Any boy

who has a picture

of himself skiing

or on a four-wheeler

or who says that his hobbies

are Crossfit

or watching Netflix

is

instantly

out.

You take a chance

on a boy

with a funny About Me.

Whose pictures

make him look like

he could carry on

a 30-minute conversation.

You swipe right.

And you match!

What a thrill.

The carefully curated gallery

of the least unphotogenic

pictures of you

that you could find

somehow,

miraculously,

did the trick.

Or maybe,

your heart hopes,

he actually read

your carefully edited About Me

and thinks you seem interesting!

A girl can dream.

One time in ten,

one of your matches messages you!

And then the battle of wit begins,

trading clever quips back and forth,

weaving in

the mundane details of your life

that everyone who actually knows you

already knows.

Because--

don't forget--

you're talking

to

a

stranger.

And even though

this conversation will go nowhere,

and you probably

will never meet,

let alone go on a date,

you wait anxiously between messages.

What will he say?

Did my witty quip

leave a door open

for him to send

a witty quip back?

You look over his pictures

again and again.

He can't actually

be a psychopath,

can he?

He looks nice, right?

I like having

this strained

electronic

conversation.

The truth is,

you're ever only moments away

from typing,

"Oh wait,

I actually don't care about you

because we've never met

and I have nothing invested in this.

K, bye."

But that might be mean.

So you just delete the app.