Bumbling

After I separated from my husband and moved out, the next logical step seemed to be getting myself back out there. I decided to create an online dating profile on Bumble. The app appealed to me because the onus is on the woman to swipe right, and only the woman can initiate messaging. I figured, by giving us the power to choose instead of being chosen, it might be a more amenable experience.

I lasted a week.

The free version of the app allowed you to build a profile that consisted of six photos, and a selection of ways to describe yourself, to include sharing your political views, your education level, life habits, zodiac sign, religion and whether you have kids and want more, or not. There were also a few prompts that gave a "fun facts about me" vibe, and finally, you shared your geographical location. It seemed like you could provide just enough information to pique interest while leaving room for some mystery.

I reached out to four people (remember, I can only message those I selected who also matched with me, and I had to initiate). Two didn't respond at all. In one case, it was brief, as this guy wanted to find "the one" and have babies, and that is not my goal. We were kind to each other and wished each other well. The last one messaged back, and this went on for a few days until it felt too tedious to continue. He went between trying unsuccessfully to initiate sexy talk (Me: It's rainy and gray today and I just want to take a nap. Him: Rain is sexy), or commenting that his son was home and hungry so he was going to cook him some wings (Yeah, I get it, teen boys have bottomless pits for stomachs), or a glimpse on his actual opinion about how the pandemic and society's reaction to it was pretty disappointing and disastrous. I tried to cut him loose and got a bit of a sob story about him not finding love, and out of pity, I stuck around, only to get more lame sexy talk and comments about having to cook wings for his son. I eventually disabled my account. I am sure this guy was perfectly fine and I was the problem, and more specifically that these kinds of apps are not compatible with my style of getting to know and feel interested in men.

In my week of scrolling, I saw countless car selfies (suspect), plenty of listings of "Tacos" as a favorite food (hairy variety, no doubt - I'm surprised no one said "clams"), and worst of all, the statement "No Drama," which I took as a way of telling someone to shut up before you even exchange words. One guy had every photo of himself posed with a wide-eyed open-mouthed expression, his rendition of Blue Steel. I couldn't tell if that was a joke or an honest attempt at looking attractive and sensual. There's a lot of scrolling to do before finding someone that has an inkling of potential to be someone you might want to meet.

During my swiping, I found my husband's profile. I figured he downloaded the app because our shared subscription probably showed that I had downloaded it. In one last ditch attempt to see if I cared (I didn't), when we were still living together, he admitted to downloading Tinder and creating a profile. I took screenshots of his description of himself on Bumble. It's always interesting when you know someone intimately, to see what they decide to show to the public. Most of it was accurate, and some of it was not appealing (if you brag about having long work hours, I'm not impressed, or interested, and I'm wondering what you're trying to prove).

I don't know why I bothered with any of it, except that I miss the connection of going out once in awhile, and it might have been fun to find a person I could meet up with on occasion. I like going to movies and being able to lean my head on a shoulder, or going to dinner and flirting. I miss feeling attraction, and at the same time, the app seems so limited, and flat. Someone's poor description of themselves might cause me to overlook them entirely, or choosing someone might result in conversation that goes nowhere. I don't have the time, inclination or patience, and swiping through people like I'm shopping on Amazon feels really icky to me. It's another version of having to kiss a lot of frogs before finding a prince. What we don't say is, maybe no one needs a prince after all.