If there’s one thing I am good at, it’s nagging about dating and how I’ve been lacking a good date for months now. If there’s one thing I am bad at, it’s dating. I am on Tinder, just to prove to myself that I àm giving people a chance, but I just cannot take it seriously. God, how self-absorbed can guys be, honestly? If your profile pic is a photo of your abs, I’m assuming you have a horribly deformed head and less than two operating brain cells – which you probably do either way, regardless of possible missing pieces in your face. If it’s a picture of your car, I’m assuming you are a Transformer. And if it’s a picture of you and multiple friends, I’m assuming you are the ugly one. Sorry, but honestly very much not sorry. Tinder is possibly the reason I’m low-key starting to lose faith in humanity. What happened to trying to get into a girl’s pants by talking to them in real life? Chivalry truly is dead.

Honesty does compel me to say I don’t hang out in bars very often. I am more of a coffee shop kinda girl, reading books, sipping lattes, hoping the next intellectual who happens to have rock hard abs walks in, sees me and falls hopelessly in love with me. Not that I have given it much thought, of course. But back to bars and how they don’t work very well for me and my resting bitch face. It’s an odd concept, I know I look unapproachable and ready to kick you in the nuts, but I actually dò want you to talk to me. No, scratch that. I probably don’t want to talk to you, but I would think it were cool if you’d actually tried! I don’t blame you though, even I would be terrified of me. So just leave it to me as the strong, independent woman that I am to take matters into own hands.

Recently I was walking with some friends in a sunny market, when we decided to stop for drinks. The terrace where we were sitting happened to come with a gorgeous young man singing some songs. After the usual and inevitable mumbling about how cute he was, I felt a wash of braveness come over me and decided to give him my number. I could leave it at that and you’d think I am a fearless young woman who dares to speak to any hot guy without hesitation, but I was just planning on throwing my number into his guitar case like the next groupie. Unfortunately, he just started packing, so I had to give it to him person. I felt too courageous to let the moment pass and I actually gave it to him in person with what I hope was a charming smile. It must have been, because he actually texted me. Leave it to me to give my number to about one guy each year, but to have that guy be a semi-famous artist. Go figure.

We actually went out, had some drinks and kissed at the front door. Naturally we have not talked since, but I am okay with that. I broke my bad not-dating spell and I realised I must own some facial expressions that make me look friendly and non-nut kicking. Winning!