Even though you despise meeting people online. You swipe mostly left, not knowing how the app works yet, and have very few matches. You wake the next day, alone in your bed. You switch on your cell phone. You have five new matches. You check the IM and read through the messages:.
Investigate new match. Smiling man, dark beard, glasses, friendly eyes, open face. Likes cycling, dresses well, is Spanish. You talk on Tinder for hours. He makes you laugh, he works in digital advertising too. You run out of battery and decide to delete Tinder, 24 hours after signing up. You give the Spanish your cell phone number before deactivating your account. You continue to chat via WhatsApp for more hours.
He asks you on a date, and you say no, not yet. Another 24 hours later and you say yes. You pick your outfit carefully. You wear the one item of clothing from Spain that friends bought for you on a recent trip, a pair of flower printed stockings, with midi-heel boots, a tight-fitting lacey skirt, a flowing black top, which shows just the right amount of cleavage, a red jacket, your favourite bird necklace and a leopard-print scarf.
You feel faint the day leading up to the date, telling yourself to calm down. You smoke too many cigarettes and worry about coughing wine over him. He tells you he is working late, so you have another hour of angst. You finish your hair and make-up and pour a glass of wine. Just one, to calm the nerves. You smoke another few cigarettes.
The wine tastes like toothpaste. You give her the time and location of meeting the Spanish. The hour is up and you call a taxi. You arrive at the hotel and he is waiting in the reception area.
