"Tinder is like a lottery. Just without any prizes."
I’ve long suspected that fate just forgot about me.
Dropped me somewhere between a grocery store receipt and my dreams of the perfect guy—one who knows the difference between ‘sushi’ and ‘rolls’ and can book his own dentist appointment.
At twenty-six, I had a steady job at a tech company, loyalty cards for three coffee shops, and a cat named Bagel who loved me almost as much as he loved his food bowl.
But on the personal front, it was nothing but endless calm. Dead calm.
On a Saturday night, with my head buried in a bowl of popcorn and after binge-watching three rom-coms in a row, it hit me: enough is enough. Time to take action.
Life wasn’t going to hand me love on a silver platter.
At best, it’d offer a “two pizzas for the price of one” deal and a text from my mom asking, “When’s the wedding?”
I got up, brushed the popcorn out of my hair, grabbed my laptop, and heroically opened a new Excel file.
At the top, where budgets and reports usually come to life, a monumental title appeared:
Operation: Find My Prince.
Yes, the plan was ambitious:
Sign up for Tinder.
Create a dating scorecard (using a points system: humor, charisma, owns a cat).
Defeat loneliness.
If it doesn’t work out—at least enjoy a good cup of coffee in decent company (that I’ll probably pay for myself).
At that moment, I felt like a world-class strategist. A general of love. The architect of my own destiny.
Though my cat Bagel looked at me like he was betting on a different outcome.
The next morning, I officially signed up for Tinder.
A no-filter selfie, a subtle “I’m normal but might bolt out a window if needed” smile, and a short bio:
"Marina. Love coffee, books, and people who don’t mistake flirting for an interrogation."
I scrolled through Tinder with the face of someone who just realized life isn’t a sitcom like *Friends*, but a low-budget thriller with no director.
On the screen, one after another, floated profiles of promising candidates:
Here’s a guy holding a fish, with a belly so shiny and proud it could’ve been captioned, "Looking for a muse and a partner in the battle for the last beer in the fridge."
Next up was the category of “probably wanted by the FBI or Interpol.”
Then there were the ones posing with three half-dressed women or showing off parts of their chiseled bodies, with bios like: “I’m into serious relationships and loyalty.” Sure, loyalty on a rotating schedule, I thought.
And the champion of the night—a bathroom selfie with a toilet in the background, angled so the real star of the photo wasn’t the guy, but his... toilet brush. Pure romance.
I squinted and asked myself silently:
"Marina, are you sure you didn’t download the wrong app? Is this Tinder or some kind of *Dark Souls* for lonely hearts?"
Then came the truly special specimens:
Someone only posted pictures of their hands (?!), another showed feet in flip-flops against the backdrop of a backyard shed. Some didn’t even shy away from stating in their bio: “Looking for a girl who loves gardening and cooking for a family of six.”
I was about to throw my phone across the room in despair when I stumbled upon the grand finale of the evening:
A young guy in a full-body Pikachu costume, proudly holding a sign that read: “Not looking for anything serious. Just adventures. And Pokémon.”
I took a couple of deep breaths, hoping for a miracle, and kept swiping.
The miracle didn’t take long—it arrived in the form of candidates that normal life should’ve kept hidden behind the curtains of reality.
Candidate #1: "Gamer Geek"
Him (Username: DarkOrcSlayer2005):
— Hey, gorgeous. How’s your evening?
Me:
— Hey. Pretty okay, until I remembered tomorrow’s Monday again.
Him:
— Haha. Wanna make your night epic?
Me (internally bracing myself):
— Depends... How epic are we talking?
Him:
— Picture this: just you and me... all night... together...
(I tensed up, feeling a slight wave of suspicion.)
Me:
— And what would we be doing? (suspiciously)
Him:
— You’re asking? Just imagine! Me. You. All night! Taking down orcs in a raid! Storming the Fortress of Fire Gate! This kind of event only happens once a year on the server! I’ll level up your character and buy you new armor!
(At this point, I nearly choked on the coffee I was sipping.)
Me:
— So… just me, you, and three hundred virtual orcs at the Fortress of Fire Gate?
Him:
— Yesss! Just you, me, and an epic battle. It’s basically like marriage, but cooler! I can tell you get me!
(At that moment, I wondered what annoyed me more: that I’d stumbled upon a total gaming nerd, or that he didn’t even see me as a girl with potential, just a keyboard buddy?)
Me:
— Tempting, for sure. Do you always lure girls with raid invites?
Him:
— Nah... You’re special. I don’t even let others join my party.
(A special honor—to be the third mouse in his orc-slaying clan? Thanks, but no thanks.)
Me:
— I’m flattered... I’ll think about it… (I won’t think about it. Not for a second.)
Him:
— Come on, babe, I already told the guys in the party! Just say ‘yes’ and let’s roll!
(A brief pause. I glanced out the window. Spring. First flowers blooming. Couples walking hand in hand. And here I am, choosing between loneliness and orcs.)
Me:
— You know... I’ve thought about it. I don’t think I’m ready for such a serious commitment... I’m more of a carefree girl, might even be late to your party...
Him:
— Bummer((( That’s not gonna work for me. You gotta be more serious in life! With that attitude, you could mess up the whole raid... But if you decide to grow up and take responsibility, realize that duty and timing matter—I’m here. Hit me up. Free raid entry for you!
(I closed the chat and wondered: am I mad because he’s a clueless nerd, or because even this clueless nerd has plans for the night, and I don’t?)
Candidate #2: "Overly Serious"
Him (Username: Serious_Steve):
— Hey. I’m looking for a serious relationship, preferably with the prospect of a joint mortgage.
Me:
— Seriously? (I nearly choked on air.) And who’s taking out the loan?
Him:
— Well, you, obviously.
(At that moment, I set my phone down, took a deep breath, and picked it up again. Maybe I misunderstood something?)
Me:
— Sorry, why me?
Him:
— Because I’m temporarily unemployed. The bank won’t approve me.
Me:
— “Temporarily” as in how long? A week? A month?
Him:
— Three years.
(Three. Years. I’m not even sure my jeans last that long in my closet.)
Me:
— And how do you get by?
Him:
— My mom helps out. She says I used to earn so little that my whole paycheck went to commuting. So it’s better to save—stay home.
(A mental image popped up: him sitting on the couch in house slippers labeled “Boss,” munching chips, pondering the global economic crisis.)
Me:
— Makes sense, sure. Better not to work at all than spend money on the bus...
Him:
— You get me! We’re like made for each other!
(I started feeling a little dizzy. Is this a new level of rom-com? Title: *Love and Debt*?)
Me:
— So, what are your plans for the future? Maybe look for a job someday?
Him:
— Eh, maybe... When my mom retires. I’ll think about it then.
(I pictured us at the bank: me, him, and his mom. With me as collateral for the loan.)
Me:
— Have you thought about the wedding yet? Maybe sign up for a payment plan right away?
Him:
— Oh, great idea! You’re so practical! We could do a budget wedding at a diner near the train station.
Me:
— And the honeymoon?
Him:
— Oh yeah… At my Aunt Valentina’s cabin! They’ve got a grill there.
(A wave of romance washed over me so strong I nearly cried from the sweetness.)
Me:
— And where would we live?
Him:
— While we’re sorting out the loan—at my mom’s one-bedroom apartment.
Me (internally):
— A one-bedroom? Three adults? That’s not an apartment, that’s a survival fight club.
Me:
— You know... I think you’re too good a catch for me. I’m not worthy.
Him:
— Nah, it’s fine. I can tell you get me, so don’t worry. You’re a good fit...
(At that moment, I felt such pride in myself for not smashing my phone against the wall.)
Me:
— Wishing you and your mom all the best! Say hi to her for me!
Candidate #3: "Amateur Astrologer"
Him (Username: Zodiac_Master):
— Hey, beautiful. I believe in fate.
Tell me your zodiac sign, and I’ll tell you if we’re meant to be.
Me:
— Hold up. Where’s the option for “don’t trust people who carry star charts instead of a moral compass”?
Him:
— Haha, you’re funny. But this is serious! Astrology is the science of life.
(I pictured him solemnly laying out tarot cards in front of an ironing board and consulting Venus before buying toothpaste.)
Me:
— Fine. I’m a Sagittarius.
Him:
— Whoa… Sagittarius?
(A long pause followed. I had time to order a pizza and wash the dishes.)
Him:
— Okay, looking at your chart… Hmm… Sun in Sagittarius, Moon in Gemini, you’re in your comfort zone…
(I was genuinely surprised: how does he know about my comfort zone and that I plan to stay there at least until next fall?)
Me:
— Alright, and what about you?
Him:
— I’m a Leo with Mars in Libra. Very energetic, but balanced. Well, unless I’m hungry.
(Perfect. A Leo. If he’s hungry, he’ll bite and roar; if he’s full, he’ll nap on the couch.)
Me:
— Okay. So what do your stars say? Are we a match?
Him:
— One sec, I’ll check our compatibility…
(Another pause. Probably ran off to consult Pluto.)
Him:
— Well… sorry, but no.
Sagittarius and Leo could ignite with passion, but my Jupiter is too lazy, and your Venus isn’t ready for compromise.
(So, my planets shamelessly sabotaged my date.)
Me:
— Bummer. Should we roll the dice of fate one more time?
Him:
— No, fate is harsh. And also… your Moon in Gemini suggests a tendency toward sarcasm. That’s toxic.
(I could practically feel my sarcasm crashing against the chat walls and leaking onto the floor.)
Me:
— Oh, what a revelation, great high priest of Celestial Destiny!
Him:
— See? There it is again. Incompatible.
Me:
— Poor us… Broken up before even sharing a coffee.
Him:
— And honestly… I need a woman who’ll listen to me, not argue with me.
Me:
— I hope you find a girl who quotes Jupiter and cooks stew under Venus’s blessing.
Him:
— Thanks. And I hope you find someone who doesn’t care about retrograde Mercury.
Me (in my head):
@
Candidate #4: "Couch Traveler"
Him:
— I’m a traveler and love expanding my horizons!
Me:
— Awesome! Which countries have you visited?
Him:
— Well… it’s all in the planning stage for now… But I’ve already explored Google Maps all the way to Australia!
Me:
— Impressive expedition, sir! Did the kangaroos attack through the screen?
Him:
— Didn’t see any kangaroos, but I got lost twice on Kangaroo Avenue in Sydney… I’ve virtually traveled half the world.
Me:
— So you’re the Columbus of our time: instead of a ship, you’ve got Wi-Fi; instead of discovering America, you’re finding new angles in Street View?
Him:
— Exactly! I even “walked” the entire Great Wall of China!
Me:
— Listen, an athlete like you deserves a spot in the Guinness Book of Records! “Longest virtual walk without physical injury.”
Him:
— The key is avoiding blisters on my fingers from scrolling.
Me:
— Do you have a passport yet?
Him:
— Uh… I printed one at home on my printer for the vibes.
Me:
— And did the Australian consulate accept your Paint masterpiece?
Him:
— Haven’t checked yet. But I believe thoughts are powerful!
Me:
— Well, good luck on your journey to the fridge and back.
Him:
— You’re rude and uncivilized!
And with that, he blocked me...
Closing the app and calming down a bit, I, as a true analyst of the love market, opened my Excel file proudly titled "Operation: Find My Prince."
On the screen, it flashed:
4 candidates, 0 wins, infinite questions of “what just happened?”
I tried to sum it up:
1 gamer geek
1 overly serious
1 astrology romantic
1 couch traveler
"Success level: below rock bottom.
Self-respect level: holding on by cookies and sarcasm."
I glanced at my Excel chart, where a blue arrow labeled “dating success” was supposed to climb upward.
Instead, it stubbornly plummeted, like it was skydiving without a parachute.
"If my path to love is a marathon, I just tripped over the starting line."
Closing my laptop, I took a deep breath and decided:
Next time, I’ll go into battle with a new strategy.
And preferably, with a helmet.
My grand hopes were starting to fray at the seams.