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Tales of Tinderland — Ironing Shirts Naked
After my (second) divorce, living alone with my two lovely kids, I felt overwhelmed and didn’t have time for anything. My Mother had recently discovered the wonders of online dating and kept on pushing me to give it a try. At fifty-six, she was having a blast; and a second youth.
My Mom, may she be blessed, made a deal with me. She would take care of the snowflakes two nights per week to give me some freedom. In exchange for this precious gift, I just had to create an account on any dating app of my choice and spend there at least thirty minutes during these nights. It was a small price to pay for liberty!
True to my word, I did all the profile and picture thingy, and there I was, in the (dark) clouds of online dating. Swiping through elevators and pictures of motorcycles, I got a taste of the menu. From their profile description, the guys seemed a bit lost. Most of them wrote something like this:
“I’m at this point in my life where I want to go with the flow. It can be for the rest of our lives, or just for one night, but let’s make it beautiful.”
But they were much more clear in their messages:
“ONS?”
“I don’t do ONS; what about TNS? I’m always better the second…
