When Tinder fails

Sometimes when you are trying to chat a woman up on Tinder it just goes wrong…


Hedgehogs…why can’t they share?

With great wit, I seized on this 30 something’s profile line and our shared passion for indie music.

-Hi.  I guess hedgehogs don’t share because they are mainly pricks!  Wrote that myself.  If you liked that contact me for more puns and to share indie band interests…

She didn’t reply.

Clearly not a fan of the kind of intellectual word play I could have brought to her life.


-Hi.  Where did you go travelling?  What attracted you to me?

Yep, time to give the impression I ooze confidence a la Don Draper and am in no way just a lonely, slowly greying, slightly overweight bloke in a cold annex desperately searching for love.

-I haven’t heard that question before, she replied.

-Thought I would try a different question, was my less than witty retort.

She was thinking of moving to Winchester so I filled her in on the city…

-Cinema with 2 screens that plays good films.  A few small museums and galleries.  Clean (is that important to people?!).  White (clearly thinking she was a racist despite the lack of Ku Klux Klan fancy dress profile pictures!).  Wealthy (present company excluded).

And then I hit her with this zinger…

-I suppose the big plus is you would see me!

Let’s just say she didn’t consider that a big plus.


After some chit chat with another poor, unsuspecting victim about our interests, I hit her with this vanity project:

-How much would you give me out of ten?

Shit, a man’s got to know.

-Erm I don’t know.  I find it hard judging without knowing anything about people.

Not something I find hard.

-A 7/8.  How tall are you?

-Cool.  Great.  I’m 6ft but my mate reckons I am 5’11.

-5’12 then.

-Is size that important?

You can guess where this is going.  Blah blah blah.  And then I cut to the chase…

-So, how important is penis size?  (Oh, I’m a charmer!)

-Lol, nunities! X, she replied, probably scared.

-I thought I was pushing it with that.

-Haha, you can blame the alcohol.

-I have done that for years, I say, amusing myself but at the same time, revealing a slightly worrying and definitely unattractive alcohol problem.

And then, it’s shit or bust time.

-Would it be ok to have a candid chat?

-I really am off to bed.  My alarm is set for 5.30.  I’m not sure I’m your type lol! X



11.46 pm and an equally bland response to, How’s it going?

-Not bad thanks.  How are you?

I say something inane, merely designed to extend the conversation and give myself a veneer of respectability that sadly wore off in the early alcohol years i.e. something about work indicating I am not a bum who has stumbled across a lost iPhone and decided to amuse himself with Tinder.  And then, the animal in me surfaces….

What brings you to Tinder?

It doesn’t take Alun Turing to crack this code.  She’s played this game before…

What brings you to Tinder?

Touche!  I’d say I am looking for someone properly but I am a man after all and your black dress looks very good.

This is reference to a picture of her in a black dress that I would like to see on my bedroom floor.

Thanks, she says.

I never saw the black dress on my bedroom floor.


Attracted to her ‘correct grammar-adhering’ girl profile reference, I run with:

­-Hi.  What grammatical faux pas annoys you the most?

8 days later after no response, desperation kicks in.

No word of a lie, you were the most interesting person matched.  Shame you didn’t reply (=PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REPLY TO THIS)

Jackpot time…

Sorry John.  I can be very indecisive over things.  Thank you for the compliment – not sure I will believe it though.

After some mildly confusing chat about grammar, I have just about ensnared her in conversation.

-Shall I ask you something clever and interesting?

-Fire away.

Still, to this day, I do not know why I said this…

Between grief and nothing what would you choose?

Yep, ladies, I got all the lines.  Seriously, why would any normal thinking person think that was a sensible question?  I despair with myself sometimes.  But, she did respond…

-Grief…I think

Jeez, she is indecisive…

I like the simplicity of nothing though.

Oh, just make your mind up woman!

I decide to try and pin her down (metaphorically).

­-You have to choose.  No room for indecision.

-Explain your choice first, she asks.

-Nothing.  Because grief entails having felt pain.  You?

-I would think feeling, something, anything, is better than nothing at all, but hurt is definitely not nice to experience.

I have managed to drain this conversation of any charm, wit and comedy.

After admitting I stole the question from Richard Gere in ‘Breathless’ and using such words as self-deprecating and coping strategy, she quite rightly asks..

Are you a little head in the clouds?  I sense your profession (journalism) would need a degree of hopeless pursuit!!

Well, that’s offensive.  She continues, revealing she likes self-deprecation too…

I can swing from Postive Pollyanna (who the heck is that, I think?) to a dark stormy little rain cloud sometimes.

Now, who’s a little head in the clouds honey?!

All thoughts of me finding a kindred spirit are blown out of the water when she ponders why I chose to write to her.  I reply with…

You seemed interesting based on your bio.  Not sure what head in the clouds means but I’d probably describe myself as a thinker, I think.

One thing she thought, choosing not to respond, was; ‘this guy’s a dick’.



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