Butterfly Effect

I think it is finally safe to write this post, considering the subject is done reading my blog. [Or at least I think he is. One can hope. And for some reason, I got psyched into feeling it would be sneaky to make it private.]

So. A Tinder win, I suppose?

Of the few people I gave my number to, only one person ended up remaining as interesting as he was on the app. The others pestered me to meet up, or kept commenting on my facial features. [Once or twice, or in the course of conversation, is fine. Pinging me exclusively to say that my lips look kissable? Ew.]

But this one person. There are butterflies. So many butterflies.

I didn’t have a good idea of what he looked like, being fully aware [and guilty] of well-angled pictures. But it didn’t matter. I enjoyed chatting with him. Conversation with him made me laugh. He was interesting, even though his life was routine [his words, not mine]. There was a definite spark.

Then we planned to meet up. And I was a mess of nerves. I couldn’t imagine why, considering how even meeting new clients doesn’t render me so idiotic anymore. I was nervous and excited and flushed. Very flushed. Think tomato. In my state of confusion, I ended up at the meeting spot a good 45 minutes in advance. Because I wasn’t feeling conscious enough. *facepalm*

In the tea shop, I settled down comfortably to wait with a novel, and was slightly surprised to realise that he is tall. And really not photogenic, because much cuter in person. And clearly as feeling as awkward as I was, thank goodness!

There were so many sensations I was swirling in. I figured, by keeping my tone light and subjects neutral, I would be able to navigate this charged situation [at least I felt it was charged] without too much embarrassment. But, and this is something I need to work on, I couldn’t actually look him in the eye. Every time I did, I could feel a blush creeping up my neck and staining my cheeks. It didn’t help that I could feel his eyes on me. I have no idea what he was thinking though, so I put it down to normal, social behaviour that I was apparently incapable of at that moment.

Thankfully, the extreme awkwardness drained as the conversation progressed. And I relaxed in his company, because he was nice. We laughed and chatted, and finally decided to look for a place to get dinner.

We found a place nearby, and sank back into a comfortable chat. I don’t know what we talked about, but the time sped past. And as the evening drew to close, I started feeling awkward again. Because all I could think about, despite valiant efforts to the contrary, was what it would feel like to kiss this guy.

By this time however, I was reasonably certain that he didn’t find me attractive. Disappointing, but not unexpected. He hadn’t come with any expectations [sensible], but me being me had already imagined numerous scenarios. The evening had far surpassed any of those though.

We walked towards the exit of the complex, and for one moment I thought I would link my arm in his. Didn’t though, because panic and fear of crossing a line overpowered the thought immediately. The spot from where I called for an Uber was slightly secluded and dark, so again my imagination started racing. He said goodbye in the typical French fashion of a light kiss on both cheeks, and a perfunctory embrace. It was quite platonic. I expected him to carry on, since he lives quite far off, but he waited till my ride arrived. Chivalry!

A few minutes later, my cab swung into the lane, and we walked towards it. And then, a little to my surprise, at the cab, he did the French farewell thing again. Only this time, after it was done, I looked up into his face, and simultaneously felt an almighty blush and millions of butterflies erupt. Thank goodness it was dark, because I am sure I surpassed tomato at that moment. Because, for a second, I thought the kiss was going to happen. There were so much chemistry crackling in that moment, it took me a while to realise that it was purely and exclusively in my head.

The moment sadly passed, and I got into the cab. A sigh escaped, partly of disappointment and partly of relief that my blushing face wasn’t visible in the dark. Settled into the seat to message my mother that I was on the way back home, resigned to the fact that all the interest was only on my side. But before the cab moved forward, my door was yanked open and he dipped his head into the car. I don’t remember exactly what he said, because I was so surprised.

But I do remember driving off with a smile, because maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the only one who wished the evening could have gone on for longer.


Offence in Reverse

I made the monumentally stupid decision to rejoin Tinder just before the new year. This idiotic decision was wholly prompted by a pal, who was having a riot swiping on the app. So in a misguided attempt to try my luck at dating once again, *sigh* I downloaded Tinder again.

This time however I knew better than to leave my Instagram account public. I had turned it to private a few months ago, and boy did that save my goat. Over the course of one night, I had 44 requests to follow me thereafter, and 14 requests to message. I was overwhelmed to say the least, but the worst was yet to come.

I logged into my email and saw a connection request for LinkedIn. Now, I am not picky about the people I add on there. Mostly professional requests in any case. I got into a discussion with the new connection, and he wanted to talk about some content for his company. Fair enough I thought; this sort of thing is fairly common.

We spoke later in the day, about the kind of content his company was looking for. The whole thing appeared to be vague in his mind (not uncommon if the idea of content marketing is nascent) and he kept swivelling back and forth between various points. I realised that the conversation was going nowhere, so I proceeded to wind down the call, stymieing all efforts of a meeting. The last gasp of an effort though was still there: “So when can we meet?” Sigh.

But, the creme de la creme of asshats today was on Facebook. Now, I don’t know how the dude found me on Facebook by just my first name, but hooboy was he weird.

He sent me a message which was ordinary enough, and not in the least offensive. So I wasn’t creeped out, but his message implied that I knew him from somewhere. Thus, I allowed the message, and replied, asking him whether we had met (and I had forgotten).

He said that we had a friend in common. I asked who. He named someone I didn’t know. I said that maybe he had contacted the wrong person? And then..

He flipped his lid.

“Do you think it is so easy for me to message you?” – I never hinted at the ease or difficulty of this at all!
“I asked you for Taj (sic: coffee at Taj), keeping safety in mind.” – Ok?
“You didn’t even consider my invitation!” – Obviously. You’re a stranger off the Internet.
“Trust me you would not have regretted it.” – Whoa, boy. Calm down.
“I will NEVER message you again!” – Um, ok?

He got offended WITH ME. Why? Because I refused to go out with a total stranger for a coffee date, based solely on his stated “liking” for me, his invitation, and in consideration of the difficulty in asking me.

I regret nothing, crazy person.

404: Brain-to-Mouth Filter Not Found

Thing I actually said to a guy I met off Tinder that proves I have no brain-to-mouth filter:

Very sweet Crossfit trainer, who I met that day for the FIRST time: “You should workout a little every day; it is an investment in your health.”

Me: “Come on now. I know you’re a trainer, but *I* don’t go around telling people to read a few pages of a book every day because it is an investment their vocabulary, just because I’m a writer!”

I will just quietly die of mortification in my corner now.

Too Explicit

So, I recently signed up for Tinder. And when I say recently, I mean it has been 6 days. But of course, being the person I am, apparently the universe cannot resist messing with me.

I matched with a bloke’s profile, because it had uproariously funny pictures; none of which was actually of the guy himself. Also, his profile said ‘married’ and he was clear that a relationship and booty calls were off the table. So I thought – because apparently no alarms were ringing in my head – why not, and swiped right.

At first, conversation was great. He was witty and played off being chauvinistic (I presume) and I enjoyed the whole back and forth. He then asked me for my Whatsapp number, which I figured was an easier app to use for communication and I gave it to him.

Somehow, the conversation suddenly became very creepy. There was a lot more suggestiveness and raciness in the messaging, and again, not knowing where to draw the line, I started feeling mighty uncomfortable. And apparently my go-to line for this sort of situation is: “I’m sleepy. Good night.”

Except, just before calling off, he messaged me: “Do you enjoy explicit stuff?” I replied saying: “Jokes only. And then too, the tamer ones.”

“Videos?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Ok,” he said.

The next morning, I wake up to a clip on my phone. I press play, and it was thankfully on mute, because it was a video of a huge group of people clapping. The camera moves in towards the centre, and you then see what the people are clapping for.

A relatively nude woman on her back, legs in the air, being boned by a dude in just a t-shirt and his jeans around his ankles.

I recoiled a bit, because while I don’t object to porn, I do object to people sending me clips of it! Then it struck me that there must be a joke, like that picture of a buxom woman in white crossing the road is actually about a dog driving the car. So I watched a little bit, started feeling sick, and fast forwarded to the end. The end, where the guys ‘ends’ all over this woman’s face.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t a joke; it was porn.