This is the first in an ongoing series chronicling my experience…
El Chorro is not a bad-looking gaucho, but my life on the Pampas is a lonely one, with a schedule that only a bat could love. Which is appropriate for Tinder, because I suddenly feel like I’m working the check-in desk at the Transylvania Motel 6.
You see, amigos, many unphotogenic women have compromised my iPhone screen in the past week.
With Tinder, as you may know, you put up some photos of yourself, presumably the best you can find, and as your targeted matches meet your gender, age, and proximity parameters, their photos pop up on your screen.
You then “swipe” the photo to the right if you’d like to connect, and to the left if you wish them to drop into the boiling sulfur pit of a Chorro-less universe.
Good for the Gander
What I like about Tinder is that while it gives me the opportunity to be blatant about my superficiality, it also allows women to objectify ME.
The women I connect with know that Tinder is about looks, and so there is no pretense that we’re gazing into each other’s hearts and making a connection in spite of appearances.
You would be surprised how many attractive women put up several photos with this in mind, showing not only their faces but also their figures (the old-fashioned term for “racks” (the old-fashioned term for “bewbs”)).
The only thing left to chance is how old the photos are. I admit that mine are a couple of years old– and for that reason, I am on a Tinder diet to more closely resemble the matinee-idol El Chorro that my photos illustrate.
For now, though, my messaging charms will no doubt insulate me from the few extra pounds my fair maidens—er, maids—will see when we meet, as they already will be in love with me.
For the over-40 crowd, Tinder is not so much a hook-up site as an ice-breaker, or more accurately an ice-smasher. All I want from Tinder is the chance to meet pretty ladies, as even with my advanced level of suavity I admit to being reduced to a gelatinous puddle of nerves when I see a beautiful woman. At my age, the fear of rejection is now compounded by the diminished likelihood that she is both available and not crazy from the experience of living life.
You see, I believe that for a successful outcome, one of us should be sane.
I will update as events unfold…