So…I survived my first Tinder date. Shout out to every single one of you who checked in, threatened to stop by, asked for my date’s pertinent info, and demanded I let you know that I arrived home safely. I felt the love.

May they all be this gentile. It was a perfectly lovely evening with a perfectly lovely person, who was blessedly devoid of sleaze, and generous with anecdotes and laughs…mostly about Tinder. His take? Tinder is what you make it.

We discussed the now-infamous Vanity Fair article, as well as his experiences on the app in the past three months since he joined. And yes, I opted for full disclosure, telling him that I’m writing about my experiences.

He opted for full disclosure as well, revealing that he is six years older than his profile suggests. Not a deal-breaker (I’d already chosen him in part because he was older), but definitely shifts the dynamic a bit, since I’ve been attracting and dating men 1-4 years younger for almost a decade now. I’m not a believer that age and maturity automatically go hand in hand, so should things develop, this may be a good thing. At the very least, I appreciate his honesty.

Were there sparks? Not yet, but there was a lot of common ground, and definitely warmth. Enough for a second date.

But first, another first date, tomorrow night. This one is a few years younger, quick with the wit and so far, seems to find me hilarious. Great text chemistry…let’s see if it translates in person.

About the author

Who me? I'm just your average Grammy-nominated goddess next door. May I borrow a cup of sugar? But seriously: I'm a musician, model, writer, all-around creative and devoted auntie. Like you, I'm just out here in the universe, trying to make it happen...whatever that is.