Tinder

A turbo-slut, a Tinder match, and the inevitable trajectory from first message to leaving the bar.

I hate it when Tinder decides I’m undesirable. Not when WOMEN on Tinder decide it, but when the app itself does.

Facebook and Tinder have teamed up to deny me the right to exist anonymously in their ecosystem, and I’m annoyed — even if my dance card is, at the moment, full.

Facebook wants to tell your friends you use Tinder. You might want to do something about that.

Listen, as Penelope comes for me.

I don’t disappear on people. I say good-bye. I wish more people extended me the same courtesy.

Tinder kicked me off, and I’m left with more women than I can handle and less appetite than I’d have predicted.

Tinder, once again, has decided I can’t be trusted to talk to people.

My presumption is that you’re a slut who’s going to do exactly as I say.

She showed me everything, promised me more, and then vanished — not even a goodbye, just the silent void of a disappeared Tinder thread.