My boyfriend and I met the day after Thanksgiving on a romantic afternoon in Union Square Park in Manhattan. With red and orange leaves lining the trees and a crisp fall breeze in the air, it almost felt like something from a fairy tale.
After spending a few minutes searching through the crowd of bustling Black Friday shoppers, I spotted John, leaning against a tree with his phone in his hands. He was wearing dark washed skinny jeans and a fitted grey V neck T-shirt, his biceps bulging at the sleeves. Readjusting the collar of my tan leather jacket and running my fingers through my hair, I walked over to him and grabbed him by the shoulder. His wide brown eyes lit up and he hugged me….
Just kidding. I’m not going to tell you that story—at least not right away. I was thinking about it, but as I was typing, I realized how much I hate pure romance writing. The “how we met” spiel I was going for ended up making our first date seem so beautiful and perfect and Disney-like, and honestly, it was. But that first meeting is only a piece of a much bigger picture, and it just doesn’t do our story justice.
Something that I left out of this picturesque first date scene is the fact that it was a Tinder date. John and I had never actually seen each other in real life before; we had only ever spoken to each other using the dating app, and later Snapchat. And while our date ended up going extremely well—we just celebrated our one year anniversary!—I had been on many, many Tinder dates prior to that one that did not go quite as swimmingly.
To begin with the perfect date would be an inaccurate representation of my dating experience. Thus, for authenticity’s sake, it’s necessary to introduce some of the other Tinder dudes I encountered before you I can tell you about John. And that, my friends, is where this love story begins.