For the first time since 1989, I’m playing the dating game. I haven’t really been in the mood to shave my legs, so I was in no hurry to jump back in after the divorce. But once the little ones met their dad’s girlfriend, they became concerned that I am alone.
“I’m not alone,” I assured them, “I have you!”
“Not the same,” my eight-year-old insisted.
For weeks they hounded me:
“For your birthday we are giving you a gift certificate for speed dating.”
“Do you think the UPS man is cute?”
“You should get on Facebook and look up that boy you dated before dad.”
One night, as I tucked them into bed, seven-year-old took me by the shoulders, looked straight into my eyes, and emphatically stated, “FarmersOnly.com. It’s a dating service. I saw it on a commercial.”
After they fell asleep, I began toying with the idea. I had heard about an anonymous app called Tinder. It seemed harmless, so I downloaded it to my phone.
Suddenly, there were hundreds of men at my fingertips. The game goes like this: if you like what you see, swipe right. Otherwise, swipe left. If two people swipe right, then it’s a match.
At first, I couldn’t bring myself to swipe right. But when a hunky, twenty-eight year old Marine was suddenly smiling up from the screen, I figured it couldn’t hurt. Amazingly, he had swiped right, too!
By midnight, I had forty-three matches, and a date with a stilt walker who dresses as Frankenstein for charity events.
The next morning, the little ones were thrilled to hear the news. We gathered on the couch, and spent quality parent/child time Tindering.
“He’s got two dogs and a helicopter! Swipe right.”
“He’s holding an ax. Quick! Swipe left.”
One of my adult children stopped by and was mortified.
“Mother. You can’t be on Tinder. That’s for people who want to hook up, not actually date.”
By “hook up” she meant have casual sex.
“Are you sure? Because I’ve got a date Friday night with this guy.”
She peered at his picture. “Frankenstein? You’re hooking up with Frankenstein?”
She quickly informed the remaining siblings that their mother had gone off the deep end.
Within minutes I received a text from twenty-one year old son, “Mom! Stop it! You can’t Tinder!”
And another from twenty-three year old daughter, “If any of my guy friends tell me you swiped right on them, I will die.”
I didn’t remind her that would mean they swiped right on me, too. (insert devilish grin)
I had a nice date with Frankenstein. He was a great conversationalist, picked up the check, and didn’t expect anything in return. But I decided to give up Tinder. Eventually, the right guy will happen along. In the meantime, my razor is enjoying the break.