Welcome to Tinder Tales, Mamamia‘s series about disastrous dating app experiences.
When it comes to dating, I’m cursed.
Every time I think all my bad luck is out of the way, and things can’t possibly get any worse, they do. I have a theory that Punk’d has been on hiatus for a few years because they’re very busy making a HILARIOUS feature length film about me and the last five years of my love life.
At 23, I’d come out of an awful relationship. Two weeks in, my then boyfriend tried to hook up with one of my good friends, which he probably would have gotten away with if it wasn’t for the fact that I was standing right there in front of him with a drink in my hand.
Because I thoroughly enjoy banging my head against a wall for prolonged periods of time, I stayed with him for six months. Eventually we broke up because he was going to the States for two weeks and couldn’t promise he wasn’t going to hook up with all of the “hot chicks” that would no doubt be throwing themselves at him. EUGH.
SO. There I was. 23 and single with a bruised ego.
I downloaded Tinder with a friend (hahah because it’s not sad when you’re all doing it together as a joke hahah) and started swiping.
I came across this guy who I will call Matt.
Red flag numero uno: All his pictures featured him on a yacht. Or in Positano. Or in Positano on a yacht. There was lots of expensive champagne I’d never heard of, and cigars that were definitely just there as a prop, because I’m fairly certain they weren’t lit. He always wore boat shoes and a white linen shirt.
His life looked like something from Rich Kids of Instagram…
I cannot understand why/how I could have possibly thought meeting this person would be a good idea. But in our chat he made a funny joke, said something moderately nice and hadn’t tried to hook up with any of my friends in the last 24 hours so I was SOLD.