I don't get you, Tinder. At first I thought you were fun, sort of like playing with virtual single man baseball cards. But once I understood your inner workings, I realized you're kind of an asshole. I don't think it's going to work, Tinder, but before you think I'm rushing to judge you, please allow me to explain.
As the seasoned online dater that I am, I recognize that it takes quite a lot of effort to actually arrive at the point where two strangers who met on the Internet (or, good god, an app), actually meet in public. You make this process even harder. The lack of information, the ease at which one can accidentally decline a cute person (who I have no doubt would have actually been my husband), you're a mess, Tinder! It's all too much!
More amusing still is that fact that you show me mutual friends between me and the single men in my immediate area. To translate, I can see which friends of mine failed to hook me up with their single friends in my immediate area. I'll deal with them later. For now, Tinder, I'm talking to you. Here's what you've sent me in the months we've spent together.
The Wrong Zipcode: I don't live in Oregon, Tinder! I live in Brooklyn! Why are you showing me this completely adorable, rugged, blonde (damn you!) guy that I will of course match with and then after two back-and-forth messages discover that he lives as far across the country as he can possibly get? Why? WHY?
This is MATH Tinder! What about my state, city, and neighborhood of residence is so hard to zero in on? Compute, Tinder! Compute!
The Husband: Oh what a lovely wedding photo you're using as your Tinder image. Go directly to Hell. Do not pass go, do not collect my phone number. Hell is where you belong. You'll find your seat directly next to the Tinder profile whose photo is an image of him kissing his very pregnant wife. You two will be friends. In Hell.
The Friend: Awkward. He'll text me later that day to say he saw me pop up on his Tinder feed, and good grief what am I doing on there? I'm doing the same shit you're doing, sonny, getting mad at Tinder! Swipe left and move on. If we liked each other, we'd already be dating instead of dicking around with this app.
The Phantom: My phone lights up like pinball machine to alert me to the fact that I have a new Tinder match. Oh joy! How delightful. Someone thinks I'm cute based on my selection of highly edited Facebook photos.
But when I open Tinder, there's no match there. He's not there, Tinder, where is he? Are you hiding him from me Tinder? Where did you put him? Why would you lie to me? You're the worst boyfriend EVER, Tinder! If you have nothing for me than keep your trap shut, Tinder. I don't need this false hope.
The Woman: Seriously Tinder??
The Weary Traveller: Well hello there. You certainly are dashing. I'll swipe right on you, totes! OMG we matched! Zing! But wait...you're in town on business. For three days. You just want to "meet for a drink." Then you want to go back home where for all I know you have a girlfriend, a mortgage, and two kids from a previous marriage.
DAMMIT TINDER. Why do you let the current location of our cell phones rule us? Don't you understand what this means? Business trips, vacations, even layovers result in highly misleading search results! Why do you do this? Why?
You know what, Tinder, I'm done asking why. This is no longer your fault. I know you, I know your ways, and yet I still continue to batter myself with your shortcomings. Consider this your Dear John letter, Tinder. You'll never change, and so I must. It was a fun romp while it lasted, Tinder, but I know when I've stayed too long at a party. And I don't want to dance with you. Peace.