Men For Sale

Having a cold and taking a sick day seems like the greatest happenstance ever, you get a day off to just lay in your own filth and do what you please. It also made me realise I really don’t want to get back into the dysfunction of real life – because my job has become my WHOLE life whether I like it or not.

My girlfriends urge me to get out there, meet someone in the booming Big Smoke and create an existence aside from my rattling keyboard. I’m very bad at this.

Case in point. A bartender chased me out of a bar the other day (in a good way this time), looking so earnest.

“Can I geet your number?” he asked in a thick French accent.

“Ha, No I have a boyfriend.” I lied in my Trini drawl. Then I ran away.

I come by my hesitation honestly, due to the fact that my love life has been anything but usual, and it’s almost always more trouble than it’s worth. Rock stars, rock climbers, actors and Tae Kwon Do enthusiasts. I’ve tussled with them all; I’m done. The fact is, right now in my life I’m too enthralled by my loneliness. I kind of love it.

To combat this addiction, I tentatively joined Tinder recently, I squealed and cringed with every photo upload and considered for a good hour whether I should use any of my old modelling pictures. Would that make me seem too desperate or vain? Like those Instagram bitches, I despise?

Am I one of those Instagram bitches?

By far, the worst part of this in-depth analysis of my profile was that I realised I’m super indecisive – my hair has been a million different colours and lengths, I’ve lived in too many places, and I have a different smile for every occasion. I might be insane.

Regardless, I bit the bullet and joined the damn thing. I then threw my phone across my bed and hid under my duvet. Putting yourself out there will make you shit your pants.

Of course, when I finally emerged I accidentally swiped right on a bunch of dudes I didn’t want, hoping that they found me hideous and swiped left. Soon, I got the hang of it. Then I became addicted.

The thing about Tinder is, it’s a lot like online shopping which is my fucking favourite thing on earth. So I began swiping like a maniac, reading bios, laughing at truly stupid photos and marvelling at what total idiots males can be. Who takes a picture holding an assault rifle for a dating profile?

Because I’m a writer, I’ve noticed some more nuggets that are worth repeating.

White boys

Why do all European white boys in their thirties insist on climbing Mount Everest and travelling through South East Asia? Or making big snow waves with skis? Is it a thing? Is this a secret society like the skulls?


Why do SO many men on this app have pictures with babies and small children? Like ALL women are maternal and said pictures would make us right swipe like wild animals? Not so much. A picture with a dog however…woof.

Half a head

SO many pictures with only half a face, what’s wrong with the other half? Are you the phantom of the opera? Are you Harvey Dent?


Dogs are great, pictures with dogs are better. Particularly on this app UNLESS you are one particular guy who has an entire pack of miniature huskies. Then you’re a serial killer.

I’m pretty sure I won’t continue with this social experiment for long, it’s already stressing me out. All I can say after my short experience, which included a picture of a man’s buttocks with a bio stating “he just wants friends to join his nudist society,” is that romance is, in fact, dead. BUT people are weirder, and that’s a gold mine for a scribe such as moi.

Most of all I’d probably quit because, it’s scary out there, and I have been burned so so many times. Mostly through my choices outside of an app, of course, my mother is right in saying I don’t have the best taste. But, you have to hope that even though the opposite sex is generally a tribe of cavemen, there are one or two who might just want the matrix to find them, like Freddie sings, “somebody to love.”


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