Things get weird fast. While waiting for spdate messages Michelle to respond, I instigate conversations with both Ashley and Lori. This is the digital equivalent of hitting on a woman at a bar while the woman you’ve been hitting on is in the bathroom, a tightrope walk the analog me would never attempt.
Because Tinder is purposely casual, rendering indistinguishable the boundaries between those looking to hang out, hook up, and get hitched, I’m not even sure, as I leave to meet Ashley, if I should think of this as a “date
“Nice forearm stand,” I write to Ashley, a woman of striking cheekbones and auburn hair, who in one photo is doing the classic yoga pose, a cup of tea by her side, the newspaper spread before her, as if to convey that this is how she spends most mornings. Continue reading “She’s 26, with a scalpel-sharp wit, and her photos approximate my real-world tastes more than any Tinder woman so far”