Yes, I'm Single

Yes, I'm on Tinder.

And it seems I have a type. Male, a full head of hair (preferably ginger and a full blown beard, apparently), straight teeth, a respectable amount of tattoos, a nice shirt and the owner of a dog. 

Easy.

I get to sit at home picking my nose, picking men. Yum. Slut-swiping until Tinder tells me 'There's no one new around you'. 

The Tindersphere has taught me a lot about men in a very short amount of time and I can now confidently stereotype them all into a category called 'Men', they're all the same. They: 

• All like their tigers sedated
• Take way too many selfies; in the bathroom, at the gym, in the car, at odd angles, in bed...
• Have dogs that make up for their complete lack of appeal
• Never wear shirts (there is a scary amount of six-packs and oversized deltoids in the world)
• Are all Tough Mudders
• #CrossFit
• Looooove to travel
• Fish
• Think lip piercings are badass, 
• Think middle fingers, shakas and tongues out 'wid all da boys' is badass 
• Drink giant bottles of Belvedere
• Think women care about their cars
• Can't spell

Thank you Tinder for progressively lowering my standards by a rather significant amount in just one week. So why haven't I left the Tindersphere?

I've spent the last 2 years laughing at one of my friends because she's hopelessly single and destined to forever be that way. Then it dawned on me; I am that girl, I just never cared, and I still don't care. And to prove I don't care I'm still on Tinder, cause who the fuck manages to start a meaningful relationship through Tinder?

Maybe I've become one of the Tinder girls seeking validation from a thirsty pool of fish. It undoubtedly ignites your ego after a day of couch-bound activities and Tim-Tam smashing. 

And admittedly I've uninstalled and reinstalled the app a total of four times already, cause I can't decide whether it's wasting my time or will soon enough see me meeting a likeable weirdo. Must be FOMO.

Anyway, I'm always off on my own little mission, and I don't have time for faff, which probably makes me quite a difficult human being. I literally can not comprehend how a man is supposed to fit in here. But something about these last couple of weeks has got me thinking, maybe I could use a man. You know, for reaching the higher shelves, and to tell me that the orange light on my dash is my car announcing terminal illness. It's also probably just exam-time-blues and I'm doing anything to keep myself from downing wines whilst studying alcohol metabolism. 

Or maybe it's because I'm 24, prime for the picking (or childbirth), my friends are married, moving in together, popping out kids, and buying puppies. A small part of me is wondering why I'm not getting in on this settled-life-business. My closest friends have even started to not-so-subtly set me up with strangely distant friends and old flings. So I get the hint; I'm single, and maybe you think I must be lonely. I'm not.

I don't want any of that. I want to be able to run away at the drop of a hat. I also want to be able to pick my nose without judgement and make strange vegetarian foods for one. 

And as the Pussy Cat Dolls once said, "I don't need a man to make me feel good,
I get off doing my thing".