Suddenly Single: A Guide to Dating Apps and Thirst Traps
When my fiance left me for a geriatric gym rat of indeterminate gender and whose face only Mr. Ed could love, not to mention a more-than-questionable grasp on the discount bin of Maybelline, my knee-jerk reaction was to immediately bleach all my 2,000 body parts. The next was to write a scathing work of non-fiction, detailing all the things he lied about. But since bleaching one’s nether parts is best left to the professionals and a tome listing all his lofty lies would, ironically, rival that of the other massive Dick (Moby) I decided to do neither.
I did, however, pray to all the gods that he would contract Super Gonorrhea, and also dumped a huge Monster energy drink on the hood of his overcompensating-sports-car. There’s also a good chance I used his designer charcoal-infused toothbrush to scrub the crevices of the toilet he rarely cleaned during our several years of courtship. But that was the extent of my pettiness. Anything that came after that was on him.
But I digress.
A few months ago, suddenly single and increasingly clueless, I found myself thrust into a whole new scene I had never anticipated. In this semi-post-Covid, pre-menopausal arena, I was entering the dating scene feet-first. Not having a realm of real-world experience at my disposal, I found myself, for the first time, learning how to be a “me” instead of a “we.” How would I navigate the choppy seas of this dating pool I never planned on re-entering in the first place?
I shunned dating sites for the same reason I didn’t pledge a sorority at university. I am incredibly cheap. Why would I pay some Daddy Warbucks CEO my hard-earned bacon bits to find me “love” when I could navigate it old school? Well, less old school and more newish school — on social media, anyway.
The initial thing that happened when I switched my status from “In a Relationship” to “Single” was a near hurricane of Friend Requests and Direct Messages, most from “widowed” “doctors” in far off exotic locales. Nice try, George, but your last name has nothing but vowels and your third “profile” pic is of a bikini-clad neophyte holding a Costco White Claw, so, no.
Next came the onslaught of “accidental” Inbox and DM flashes. A lot of “Do you like nature? Here’s a cool pic of me on the lake!” and I’d click on the photo group and it would be: landscape, landscape, landscape, Man Meat! And dear God, men, learn to take a hint, and a decent picture of your little friend – lower is better, otherwise you’re painting a portrait of a sad, bald cyclops leaning to the right and looking for a V-8 and his Golden Fleece.
When I finally agreed to a few suitors’ requests to fill my dance card, I was three things: terrified, near-manic-like-chatty and sweatier than any 80’s movie chick dancing in a factory wearing a cut-off sweatshirt. Sometimes, as I am a multi-tasker, I could do all three at once and appear, for better or worse, as a large, very moist, wide-eyed puppet with absolutely no control over the verbiage assault I was peppering the unfortunate soul sitting my opposite. Some looked amused. Some looked like my multi-tasked twin, just as sweaty, just as terrified, but stunned in awkward silence by my continual diatribe about Joss Whedon and the genius his fans believed him to be versus his recently unearthed and concerning narcissistic ways.
Nevertheless, from these sparingly few dates, I learned some hard and fast rules. These guidelines will, and shall henceforth be, forever lauded as Holly’s Holy Trinity. (What? You expect me to be witty and infinitely clever at all times? Nope. And welcome to Rule #1).
1. You can say “No.” It is a whole sentence. You can’t please everyone all of the time. You’re not as well paid or as bone-chillingly frightening as a party clown so don’t even try. You can do what’s best for you. You don’t owe anyone anything. And you can say “no.” A lot. And often.
2. Always offer to pay your half, but don’t be stubborn. And be gracious if they insist. Be nice. Smile. Talk. Ask questions. Be nice. Listen. But still offer up half. It’s polite – and it’s NICE.
3. Just like with most Rules of the Wild, remember that they are probably more scared of you than you are of them. They won’t notice the lipstick stain on your teeth, or the giant “I still have to wear a mask at work MEGAZIT” on your nose, nor will I notice that you’re bouncing your leg so much the table next to you starts wondering if this is actually the set for “Jurassic Park 4 – the Suburbasauras.”
My point is this: Breaking up sucks, dating sucks, changing your whole life because someone couldn’t keep certain appendages out of their gym buddy sucks – but you don’t have to. You get to take control. You get to guide and write your own story, your own narrative, you are the one who will pave your Manifest Destiny and following the simple rules I outlined above — you can.
Dating doesn’t have to be an epic Thirst Trap, but can, instead, be a platform for you to promote your best assets and meet some amazing new people in the process. Who knows? You may even find yourself perched one night on someone’s back porch, enjoying a warm fire, some gourmet cheese and discussing everything from why raisins shouldn’t be in cookies and the not-so-subtle business of Upcycling art.
Suddenly single?
Yes.
Happy to be a “me” instead of a “we?”
Yes.
Destined to be alone?
Maybe. But I’m hopeful to not be treading water in solitude forever because as Lady Gaga once sang: “I’m off the deep end, watch as I dive in, I’ll never meet the ground.” But I’ll make a splash.