Well naturally I downloaded it. I guess this is where I should tell you that I am absolutely pathetic. I fall in love with every bearded man that walks by me. Within minutes of meeting a cute lab-partner, I have already chosen kids' names that go nicely with his last name. And twice I have accidentally said hello to people on campus that I've never actually met, just stalked on Facebook. So downloading Tinder is the least of my problems. I downloaded it over spring break while visiting friends in New York City and began "liking" any Thor-resembling, manly specimen that came across my screen. I proceeded to message my "matches," quickly realizing that the likelihood of finding my future husband on a juvenile dating app was probably pretty slim.
But, low and behold, a few days later on St. Patrick's Day, a gigantic man comes up to me at a bar, introducing himself as Hank and saying he recognizes me from Tinder. Like WHAT ARE THE CHANCES. In NYC of all places. Drunk me immediately reads this as fate and is making out with him within about 5 minutes. But apparently not before I casually ask/scream, "Are you circumcised? Because I'm dealing with that shit again." (My friend Marie made sure record as much of my stupidity as possible in her Notes section in her phone...). And I wonder why I'm still single.
Anyway, the last thing I remember leaning against a wall watching Hank dance with my friends and proudly telling the two random girls next to me, "Hank and I are engaged. But I'm worried our kids are going to be freakishly large." And that's it.
But then somehow, here I am, fully clothed and sock-bun still intact, in Hank's bed at 6:45am the next morning. I rolled over (on brown sheets, mind you. Who the fuck buys brown sheets) and stare at this Hercules-but-with-a-huge-nose-like specimen next to me. We pieced together/he embarrassingly recounted for me, that my phone had apparently died at around 10:30pm and I insisted upon going back to his place to charge it. The whole time home I alternated between loudly proclaiming, "I'm not sleeping with you," and "I can't BELIEVE there's no McDonald's within walking distance from this bar!" So we get back to his place, I plugged my phone in, crawled into his bed, and 8 hours later, here we are.
I felt a little bad for just passing out in this guy's bed, but I managed to stay classy and stick to my chastity vows of last night (just blow jobs are classy, right?). Then I got the fuck out of there. Because this man was literally so big he could have accidentally rolled over in his sleep and smothered me. And also because I couldn't stop thinking about eating an everything-bagel. So Hank, the chivalrous guy that he is, walks me to the door, kisses me goodbye, and ends our romantic rendezvous by saying, "Let me know when you're back in town. I want to fuck you with a horse-mask on."
Like what is my life...
Screen shotted a few off my conversations the next day on the miserable plane ride home; clearly I surround myself with the classiest of women.
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