A male friend of mine, Matt, had a rather sinister experience recently, with Tinder to thank for it. He had matched with a “reasonably attractive” girl and they decided to meet up… at her house… because her parents were away… Now if thats not an invitation to fuck, I don’t know what is. Unfortunately for Matt, on arrival it became clear that he had been semi-catfished. Not fully catfished, because the photos on her Tinder were genuinely photos of herself, but they were craftily taken and very very flattering. I hate to comment on a girls looks as though that is her worth, but it’s important for me to express Matt’s thought processes to get the full comedic value of this story. Painfully awkward Tinder greeting out of the way, they went straight to her bedroom, because, Tinder. After 5 minutes of difficult “first date” conversation, not helped by Matt’s internal panic at the situation, this girl pounced onto him for a propa snog. Next thing Matt knew, he was fingering her.. natural progression? Don’t ask.
It took Matt a further 5 minutes to reassess the situation, and realise he felt a little “violated”. He told the girl he needed a pee, went to the bathroom and had one of those ‘looking in the mirror and wondering what your life has become’ moments. He crept out of the house without saying goodbye.
But the cherry on top of this story is this: On the drive home, a mentally vulnerable Matt decided he needed a fag to calm down, and while rolling, he noticed that the plaster which had been previously located on his finger was missing. Lost forever inside the catfish.
One of my favorite ally’s in the world of single, Blake, responds to my post The Ten Commandments of Being Single:
the holy fail 