Language of love

18 Nov 2017

I use a dating app called Bumble which makes the girls message first within 24 hours, or else your ‘matched’ person disappears off the app forever. I suppose the idea is to put a rocket up the arses of all those who just swipe and never get around to messaging. And to put women in control of the opening gambit.

I started off carefully crafting opening messages personal to the guys I matched with. But it was really time consuming and ultimately I’m just trying to elicit a response to find out if they can spell/don’t use too many emojis and aren’t a fuck wit, sex pest or weirdo, so I can judge whether it’s worth me persevering. Guys do this too by the way. I’m sure they have similar rules. One guy even tried to put me through a general knowledge quiz but I told him to sod off.

So I was lazy and moved to a more generic message that I could send to lots of guys. Something a bit more than just a lame ‘hi’.

This one seemed to work best. Although I did occasionally get this sort of response:

This made me feel like a kid who does a nice drawing and gives it to the boy they fancy at school and he draws a dick and balls on it. So thanks for that buddy. I’m not on this app to get laid – I want to find a partner in crime, so this sort of approach won’t get him anywhere.

So going back to the message. This ping pong focused message gives them an inkling of my competitiveness which is no bad thing. If we do end up playing wiff waff they’ll get to know the real, rather competitive me.

If I win I’ll get to gauge how gracious they are about losing to a girl. Which is a helpful character trait around me and many of my sporty female friends.

If I lose I’ll try desperately hard to  not care but if they show the merest hint of weakness I won’t be able to help myself but go for the kill with an over ambitious forward smash. Usually in their face.

Which is clearly a bit of a flaw in this cunning plan for a boyfriend. So maybe I ought to focus on something a bit less… competitive. Maybe something which reigns in the killer instinct and doesn’t channel my inner Wonder Woman. Instead, I think I’m going to focus on my inner Nigella and talk about my culinary attempts in the kitchen. Everyone likes taking about food right? There are plenty of jokes about chunky nuts, icing your buns and soggy bottoms. What could possibly go wrong with this tactic?

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