Well, willkommen and bienvenue to you too, Georg!
Because…this was intended to be your “hello,” right?
In case you were wondering, Ladies (and several of you Gents), let me clear up this little bit of confusion for you: There is no d**k shortage in the big city—not even in the tri-state area. No need to panic.
Don’t let the doomsday articles, naysayers or your dry-ass dating life fool you: If you are looking to get laid, you may. It is there for you. So, quit your bitching, and go get you some (for both us; I’ll be cheering you on from here).
Now, if you’re looking for more—at bare minimum, some basic damned respect—we can talk, because the struggle is real out here. And before you roll your eyes and purse your lips to say, “I told you so…” YES, I knew that this is what I might be signing up for when I joined Tinder. Frankly, I’ve seen far worse in the inboxes of friends, and have braced myself for it. I also know from experience that f**kery has a funny way of finding you even when you’re not seeking it (and often, when you least suspect it). So, why not face my fears head-on?
Granted, I’m more amused than annoyed or afraid of Georg’s proposition—not amused enough to answer—simply because it is so stereotypically, pathetically, chronically MALE.
Now, before the men on my feed get their boxers—or briefs—all in a bunch, please note that I’m not referring to a “man”; I’m speaking about a “male,” as in, “the male of the species.” I’m talking about the male animal, the hunter. As a female of said species, I have questions: Namely, do you think this s**t is sexy? And does this really work for any of you? If so, bravo, Buddy, I salute you, and your directness.
Since I respect directness, I can’t help but wonder: Would it work for me? Let’s do a little “Freaky Friday”-style roleplay, shall we?
I’m blithely swiping along when I come across the potential father of my as-yet-to-be-desired offspring, grinning at me from the screen. Eagerly, I swipe right, and squeal with delight as the app—and fate, of course—reveal that we are, indeed, a MATCH (insert infinite heart-eyed emojis here)!
Not wanting to let another moment pass between me and the man who is most certainly my destiny, I breathlessly jot a quick introduction that goes something like this:
“I just arrived from your dreams, Darling. I know this is forward, but I’m ready, willing and able to commit to a substantive and productive partnership full of warmth, stability, shared goals and mutual fulfillment. Are you?”
* Blank stare *
* Unmatch *
Oh, was that too aggressive? Too bold? Too much for a mere introduction? Do you feel alarmed? Creeped out? Have a sudden urge to escape from what is clearly some bats**t crazy “Stranger Danger”?
My bad, Babe. I was just being direct. Can’t blame a girl for transparency, can you?
Now, I’m not suggesting that this is what I or the typical “female of the species” is actually thinking or wanting (at least, not at first swipe). I’m just showing you how absolutely ridiculous your brain can look on Tinder, or whatever app or keyboard you’re hiding behind, refusing to use basic tools like reading comprehension (because my profile clearly says “no hook-ups”), common greetings (like, “hello,” perhaps), and common sense.
Congratulations! You’ve effectively reduced yourself to the ugliest of stereotypes—and I’m not here for it.
Perhaps you figured that since we’re both on Tinder, you were in a safe space. So, why not just let your freak flag fly? I mean…closed mouths don’t get fed, do they?
Stay hungry, Georg. You tried it, though.
Sidebar: Can one of my German friends tell me what the hell is going on in Berlin? Are folks just swinging from the rafters over there? This the second time in a month that the city has been featured in an unwelcome proposition. And I don’t believe in coincidences.