Ninety minutes later I’m freshly showered and less pitifully hungover.
With a steaming mug of coffee in hand and against my better judgement I decide to check out the dating app. Looks straightforward.
How would you even know? You’ve never been on one.
Never had too.
I search my photos for a picture. All I have are a few selfies I took just to test out the camera and my professional headshot.
And now I’m staring at a picture of me and Kaitlin. I thought we were happy. I thought she was happy.
What if I sign up for this site and she’s on here too?
“God you’re pathetic,” I mumble to no one and delete the image.
Who cares? Who goddamn cares? Let her see that you’re moving on.
I must sound like a real loser. Pull yourself together. You’re Ryan Quinn and you’re a fucking catch. Kaitlin wasn’t the one.
Here goes nothing.
I begin filling out my profile and I snap a quick selfie. And then another and another. Why is taking a damn picture of my face so agonizing?
Just pick a picture and slap a filter on it.
When I’m done filling in the basics—age and occupation, the next part is to describe myself.
Brown hair. Blue eyes. Athletic build. 6’4”.
No dumbass, they can see all that from the picture. Well not your height. Write something of substance that doesn’t make you sound like the boring guy next door. And for Chrissakes don’t say anything about hating Christmas. You’ll probably eliminate ninety percent of the dating pool.
Whiskey Drinker. Former Musician. Donut enthusiast. Traveler. Animal lover.
Short and sweet and to the damn point.
I’m nearly done with the form and one step closer to join the mass of people who do this on a regular basis. Admittedly, I’m nervous about this.
My fingers hover above the screen as hesitation hits me right in the gut. I could just go to one of the hotels downtown and sit at the bar.
Right. There is nothing wrong with a random hookup or a one night stand.
You couldn’t even do it last night at a party filled with tons of women.
I could have if I didn’t get drunk and hide.
And now it’s up to the universe to send me a match. Or you could browse a few profiles.
I refill my mug and start swiping.
This feels so odd. It’s like picking women out of a catalog.
You mean like a mail order bride?
That’s it. I’m done.
I catch my reflection in the flat screen on the wall.
What happened to you? You used to be the most assertive bastard in the room. And now you’re a shell of your former self. I stare at myself for a beat and Crosby’s words come crashing into my brain.
“You’ve just lost your confidence.”
I’m seconds away from deleting my account when I notice a notification in my chat box. Already? That was fast.
I’m Cassie. I came across your profile and I see that you’re new to Date Match. I’ve been on here over a week and what I’d really like is someone to have dinner with and interesting conversation.
Just kidding. I’d love to be the future Mrs. Quinn. What do you say? I feel like there’s a connection here.
Wow. Well at least she’s honest.
I exit the app and toss my phone onto the cushion next to me. That’s it. The time for sulking is over. You’re going to that wine bar down the street tonight and you’re going to find someone to fuck.
The pity party ends now.