I was reminded last night of a date I had with someone I met at a charity ball. He’d been chasing me for months. I ran out of excuses to say, “no.” He invited me to Foxwoods to see the band that sang, Stray Cat Strut. It sounded fun so, I said, “okay.”

I told him to park in front of the fire hydrant outside my apartment, call me when he got there, and I’d run down. Parking is a nightmare on my street. That spot is the only place people can pull over for a few minutes. When he called, I looked out my window and saw the car.

My street is like a wind tunnel all the time. As I ran out, my hair blew across my face. I got to the passenger side of the car, jumped in and started chatting right away. I thanked him for picking me up, checked my hair and makeup in the mirror, and then looked over to smile at him.

Can I just tell you? Sitting next to me, in the driver’s seat, was not my date. It was a big black guy whose face was a mixture of shock and a little bit of fear, like “who’s this crazy ass white girl in my car???” I gasped, had a small heart attack, and jumped out of the car as fast as I got in. My eyes darted around looking for my date. Sure enough, he was on the cross street at another hydrant. I sprinted to the car. When I jumped in, I could hardly breathe from laughing so hard. Tears were rolling down my cheeks.

You. Should. Have. Seen. That. Man’s. Face! Hilarious. The whole situation was classic. Poor guy. I jump in his car, talking about who knows what while I’m fixing myself in his vanity mirror, completely oblivious to him sitting next to me with his mouth gaping.  How embarrassing!

My date didn’t think it was as funny as I did. I eventually found my composure.

The conversation drifted to the concert. He told me he knew one of the band members so we’d have great seats. Honestly, I don’t know when I will stop listening to men exaggerate about “great” concert seats. Seriously. We had standing room only “seats” and I was sardined next to a much taller woman with gigantic tattooed boobs that were the same height as my face. It wasn’t pretty and made it difficult to enjoy the show. My date then proceeded to get cross-eyed drunk and suggested we share a Pu Pu Platter for one in the Food Court after the concert. Of course, the night wouldn’t be complete without me having the pleasure of driving his crappy car home.

He asked if I’d like to go out on a second date when I got out and handed him the car keys in front of my apartment (by the correct fire hydrant.) I said, “No, thank you” and turned on my heels for the front door. Needless to say, he wasn’t a match. THAT was my Tinder guy. What possessed me to see him again after that misadventure, I can only blame on gluttony.

My last relationship didn’t work out. I hoped it would but I know better than to rely on hope all by itself. Both parties need to be on the same page, we weren’t. Plus, moms and girlfriends always know. I should have listened sooner. Oh well.

 I’ve been on Match for the last few weeks. I was starting to feel a little discouraged with my options so I decided to give Tinder a try. I know it’s considered a sex app and everything is based on looks but I wanted to see what it was all about.

I need to step back and tell you that I started to clean house on Facebook after the breakup. I hid all the profiles of “friends” who shared their happy “perfect” lives except for the funny ones and defriended men I’d had “relations” with. Well, two of them. One just got married and I don’t want to know when his chubby wife gets pregnant. (I’m sorry. I’m still crabby about the recent breakup.) The other, I finally slept with, last December, after he chased me for years. It was so bad, that I immediately negated it from my list. If I could have erased it permanently from my memory, I would have done that, too. Unfortunately, some things can’t be unseen or un-experienced. It was awful. Period.

 Anyway, back to Tinder. To sign up, you need to connect through Facebook. So, I did what any sane, respectable harlot in her 40s would do, I logged out of my account and created a new one. Well, can I just tell you? That damn app found my real account and pulled my profile picture with me holding my niece! I almost had a heart attack and immediately deleted the app from my phone. It was on my phone for seconds, or so I imagined…

I went grocery shopping. That episode called for something strong. Ben & Jerry were calling my name.

I got home about an hour later and noticed a text on my phone, “Tinder??? And, you defriended me?!?! Ouch. What did I do?” I was mortified. Absolutely mortified. I felt all the color drain from my face. It was the bad sex guy. What else could I do? I texted back, “Sorry, was cleaning out Facebook. Good luck to you.”

 I opened the pint and dug in. Did I tell you I finally lost 10lbs? I’ll have it back by next week at this rate.

I felt awful. Honestly. I was also so embarrassed to be caught on Tinder from someone who lives 35 miles away. I can only imagine who else witnessed my indiscretion. I immediately changed my profile pictures to flowers. It was the first picture I found in my files that couldn’t be easily traced back to me.

Lesson learned, leave Tinder for the kids. I guess I’ll give Match another shot.