Dating in nice
I suspect I’m too shy to seriously advertise myself on the internet.
Or perhaps I was put off by a friend’s Tinder tale.
It would cost 0 for the first three introductions, after which time I could sign up for more if those first three hadn’t met with success.
I also learnt a fair bit about the matchmaker’s assistant.
It’s true, I’m quite nosy, probably because people are interesting.
In the course of our exchange, she told me she did reiki, which is a form of healing I consider nonsense, on a par with homeopathy.
And if the outcome of a rugby game deeply affected his mood, he definitely wasn’t for me.
She laughed nervously and said she’d never heard that before.
Because I’d be delighted to meet a nice fella, someone to go on adventures with, to cook dinner with, someone whose day’s details I’d want to hear about, just as they’d be keen to know about my triumphs and disappointments.
Show up at the local library and impress the women by spouting your knowledge of the Minuteman missiles spread across the state during the Cold war.
Using this, Segway into a comparison of the missile shaft to your dong.
But meeting this mythical man, who can fix a bike puncture and prune a fruit tree, who wants to kayak around New Zealand and keep chickens, who prefers good books over All Blacks – I just don’t know where to find him.
I’ve never felt comfortable with the prospect of Tinder; for some reason it doesn’t light my fire, and the chaps on Findsomeone haven’t kindled much of anything, either.