Disclaimer: if you’re my parent, stop reading now.
As a self proclaimed Hagrid lookalike with a partially bionic spine, the limbs of Mr. Tickles and synicalism derived from a hatred of Disney fairytales, aged four, Tinder was an interesting download. But due to the Asos shopping addiction and the timetabled two hours a week of uni, solitaire just wasn’t fulfilling my boredom. An app for dating? Can’t say I’ve used, but an app for insulting strangers to use for blog material, derived from my bio of ‘Lactose Intolerant but willing to take a risk’, is an instant swipe right. (Actually swipe down instead please!) With this being my final week of uni for 16 months, and hearing that the chances of finding love on a night out in London are around three in one million, it’s safe to say I should’ve cancelled my gym membership early, as my index finder is on its way to its summer body with all the swiping.
Since my last post on the social experiment of men in the south west of England, leading to key findings such as Wilko’s grey checked bedding (an increase of eight (8) dick pics rested on this fabric, if counting Dunelm’s version, in the last week), David Lloyd protein powder snorters, and the ‘here for a good time, not a long time’ bioer’s, who have unfortunately not stuck to their word, and are still appearing. But as the realistic blogger I aspire to be (and my inability to lie with a clickbait title) I thought I’d provided some evidence (BeGin, 2019).
Let’s face it, we all want to see each other’s Tinders. Do guys go in with a hey or a chat up line taken from a Christmas cracker? Is at least one of their photos taken in a club named like a wannabe-dodgy-sounding hang-out place, spelt incorrectly (ATIK), or my personal favourite Moo Moos, or Tree; really epitomising the rural landscape of Gloucestershire! Do they all have pictures of their car, dog or some random baby they’ve taken a photo op with, to lure my ovaries into planning our first kids birthday party together (not going to lie, it’s an effective strategy)? Brace yourself…
So here goes, meet the main breed. The cocky-confidence, boy-in-the-back-of-bottom-set-maths-who’d-shout-out-stupid-comments-yet-get-his-mum-to-complain-by-email-when-he-got-E-grades, ‘don’t-need-a-uni-degree-to-run-my-dad’s-business’, doesn’t-know-what-an-overdraft-is, unlimited-mobile-data, ‘been-to-every-single-Pret-A-Manger-in-London-when-he-did-work-experience-with-his-uncle-for-a-week-in-Year-11, type of vibe.
I’m sure I’ll be back soon, maybe switching it up to J-Swipe??!
Always got your back,