I don’t know how to people. I’ve never understood it.
Social situations are exhausting and scary to me and I hate them. Can’t we all just sit in our respective blanket forts watching TV and communicating only by tagging each other in memes?
That healthy attitude towards life is why I’ve come to enjoy Tinder.
You can literally swap Seinfeld quotes with a new cute friend while sitting on the toilet. Or in bed. Or hunched over the kitchen sink while you attack a mango that you didn’t want to put on a plate so you wouldn’t have to wash it after.
Tinder lets me socialise on my terms. As a painfully shy and ridiculously socially inept individual, I like that Tinder lets me get to know someone from the comfort of home, and not the anxiety-inducing hell that is face-to-face contact with a person you’ve never met.
Tinder is the introvert’s secret dating weapon.
Of course, you eventually have to transition from messaging while pantsless on the couch to, you know, a real life date in real life land. And that’s where it all usually falls apart for ol’ Rosie. Because I just don’t know how to people.
Why then, would I post to my pretty big social media following that I have matched with another writer who would like to go on a date with me? Why?
GOOD FUCKING QUESTION. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT ROSIE?
Ah… yeah. This whole situation may have got away from me a bit.
So, here’s how it went down.
I matched with a dude on Tinder who I sort of recognised. His profile said his name was Matthew and that he was the tech editor at news.com.au. So obviously, I immediately googled him (I have no shame – anybody who says they don’t google Tinder matches is straight up full of shit).
During my shameless web-stalk, I discovered that my new buddy Matthew used to be a dating columnist in Townsville, which was beyond hilarious to me. I messaged him and told him so.
He then took a screenshot of that message and shared it on his Facebook, so I took a screenshot of his message telling me that he had shared my message and I shared that on my Facebook. It was the very grown up equivalent of passing notes in class, and my Facebook followers went crazy over it.
I’m not gonna lie, it was fun seeing how much they loved analysing what was quickly becoming the great romance of our time. Matt and I kept messaging back and forth, mainly about how people seemed to be either #TeamMarryHim or #TeamRosieShouldRunAwayImmediately
But it’s all fun and games until someone has to meet someone in person. And then Matt asked if I would meet him in person.
Leave my house? Put on pants? Socialise with a new human? Now that’s just crazy talk.
The whole thing was just a hilarious joke to me and then I realised I would have to actually follow through with an actual date. Face-to-face. In real life. With a writer. Who would almost definitely want to write about it, including all the embarrassing and awkward ways in which I would inevitably behave.
WHAT HAD I DONE?
But then I remembered, “Rosie, you’re also a writer you idiot. Suck it up and get a good story out of this. You are going full gonzo. This could be your Walkley moment. Sacrifice for your art etc. By the way you look really pretty today that new Gorman top was totes worth it love you babe.”