Nude Photos, Marriage Proposals, Pizza Vouchers

I’ve been on Tinder for a few weeks now. What other people do as a morning ritual—checking overnight matches with half-open eyes, swiping right in a late-night drunken spiral just to feel some form of human contact—is entirely new territory for me. For years I looked down at the whole circus from a comfortable height, preferring a well-timed stupid joke at a loud house party over whatever this app was supposed to be.

Then at some point between curiosity and horniness, my fingers navigated the App Store and downloaded it entirely of their own accord. I was innocent in this. I uploaded some photos, wrote a bio I thought was funny, and started chatting with bored housewives from the neighborhood. The background feeling of "what am I actually doing here?" never fully went away, but interesting people do show up if you don’t embarrass yourself too badly. A deranged actress who wrote every message in rhyme. A student who shared the objectively dumbest jokes in recorded history with me every night without any apparent irony. A heavily made-up cosplayer for whom anime, fantasy novels, and filthy roleplay were the only things that genuinely mattered.

So. I set up a profile with my real name—I wanted "HorseDick84," "The Pipe Fitter," or just "Wonder of Nature," but apparently those were all taken. I’m not precious about it. There are some technical hurdles before we can start exchanging nude photos, marriage proposals, and pizza vouchers, but if you’re willing to take that risk: you know where to find me.