I Deleted Tinder, And I’m Never Using It Again
My front door slammed behind me as I heaved a huge ass sigh and flung my backpack into the corner, haphazardly flicking my shoes off and discarding a new layer of clothing with each step I took towards my sweet, holy grail; the shower. As the water heated up I did my routine inspection of the pepperoni pizza currently doubling as my face. Was I due for my period? No, I only had it 2 weeks ago. So why the fuck have I just been ambushed with a breakout like a pre-pubescent teen that’s just been told by Doug the Talking Pimple to go ahead and rub some bacon fat on their face? Fucking hormones.
The warm water cascaded over my body and I finally felt the weight of the day wash away. Spending a good while investing in some solid shower thoughts (fuck I need to pay my fine), when I finally did emerge from the bathroom I felt rejuvenated enough to put my Explosions in the Sky pandora radio station on, with just enough energy left over to carry myself to the couch.
Sprawling myself across the duck down cushions that desperately need a deep shampoo (but srsly, that $120 is better spent on Deliveroo) I stared up at the ceiling for all of 2 minutes before picking up my phone and navigating to the app with the little flame as it’s logo. And the swipe session began. No, no, no, no, no, no, mmmmmmmmmmmm no, no, no, no.
And that, ladies and gentleman, is just the smallest of insights into how 60% of my nights proceeded up until 2 weeks ago (I say 60% because some nights I do participate in extra curricular activities that have me going straight to bed after shower with no couch time). I might have whacked my dinner in the microwave somewhere between Explosions in the Sky and the couch but other than that, there you have it. Not much diverging off-course. Because I, here it comes, was addicted to Tinder. No, correction, I was addicted to the swipe. The matching? The messaging? No. Neither of those things interested me. What actually interested me was the Descriptions people would write, or the photos they chose to put up. I’m such a creepy little snoop.
If I ever did swipe “Like” on someone and we matched, 9/10 times I would never talk to them. I wasn’t using the app for it’s intended purpose. I was using it because of my basic human to desire, “To see, and be seen”. I was using it for entertainment, like a game. My “super likes” always went to someone I knew, just so I could tell them I may as well call them google cos they’re everything I’ve been searching for; and then we could laugh and move along.
I know! I’m a bad human being! There are legit men and women on this app searching for that someone they can choose different types of engagement catering with, and I’m on there like what up bitches, I just wanna look through your pictures and judge you. Which, effectively, is the actual premise of Tinder but my problem is I have no follow-through. I have no desire to find the love of my life. Not right now. I’m pretty sure he’s just going to fall into my lap one day. That’s how it tends to happen – no great love story ever began with I searched high and low for the love of my life and I found him! Right next to the Kraft Natural Peanut Butter in Woolies. I mean look at Charlotte, and I quote “I’ve been dating since I was 15, I’m exhausted, where is he?!”.
Well, honey, just you wait till you get divorced from the man you did search high and low for. #spoileralert
NOT that I’m judging anyone that is using the app legitimately – different strokes for different folks am I right? If anything, I’m publicly shaming myself for being the bitch that wastes your time by swiping “Like” on her, and match, only to send her the sweetest/hilarious/most charming/potentially boring message you could possibly muster and get el zilcho response. What a slop dragon.
But about a week ago I had an epiphany. Yes, I was in the shower; and actually wondering why the boy I’m interested in wasn’t texting me back. When I realised, I’m probably doing that exact same thing to some other poor guy out there! I’m a monster! Hastily flicking my shower tap off, I barely wrapped a towel around me as my prawny fingers clasped my phone and I fumbled as I went through the motions of deactivating my account and then going the full hog and deleting the app altogether.
Doing a movie zoom-out of my phone and panning up to my face, it was a picture of relief. I repented for my sins, and in turn received penance (thanks, Tammy, for assisting me in looking for that word). I feel the need to stop this story and share with you all the snapchat I took during the making of this blog entry.
If I died right now, and someone decided to look at my laptop… as well as “Public” category pornhub, they would also find tabs open for the fucking bible alongside Doug the Talking Pimple. And probably proceed to wonder what sort of kinky bitch I am and question their entire knowledge of April Lea. I make no apologies. Marinate with it.
2 weeks later, and I’m still not regretting my decision to delete Tinder. That time I would have spent swiping has been put to better use…eating. I’m not even kidding – I now have enough time to make myself a protein cake and scoff my face with it, and then spend 10 minutes before bed rubbing my belly in the mirror questioning why I still have the beginnings of a gunt. It’s a real mystery, truly.
My deletion of Tinder isn’t a sign the app is useless, or that it won’t work for anyone. I’ve just come to terms with the fact I should actually be the next James Bond and use my sick investigative skills to solve some real crimes…like the mystery of the disappearing snickers bar slice in my fridge (I’m pretty sure it’s me).
I want to take this time to formally apologise to all the men out there that I swiped Like on, and in turn swiped Like on me, and never received a response from me. I know you are crushed but I promise you, a broken heart heals.