POV: You ran into someone you might've gone on one Hinge date with in 2018 but you're not 100% sure.
She's a very specific type on nondescript white woman.
The sky is dull and grey in a way that is wildly dispiriting, and I am lumbering through the slush-covered park with all the grace and command of a suburbanite fitfully combat-parking an Escalade full of yowling kids at Whole Foods. A vaguely familiar-looking woman drifts towards me, looking up from her phone to catch a brief and discerning glimpse. We lock eyes before she floats past my peripheries. Did we grab drinks that one time? Did she tell me I was nice but I’m giving fuckboi energy? Or was she the one who needed space because she quit her yoga instructor job? She’s definitely that person with the face… There’s a powerful uncanniness to this image and it triggered my Instagram Brain Disorder, forcing me to do a double-take.
I wonder if she’s finished working on herself.
The mere fact of this mild awkwardness immediately dissipating is in itself a great kindness and something to celebrate. The worst is when you two make eye contact, clearly recognize each other because you’ve seen their profile on Hinge a thousand times since that initial date, and both choose not to say anything because the chemistry was so off despite the five happy-hour spicy margaritas. In theory, we are both grown adults who should’ve graduated from awkward anxiety to zero fucks mode since we’re both paying way too much for groceries, but after approximately half a second after locking eyes, we’re both already texting our friends about it.
Or, you will see them on the app again and realize neither of you has made any connections after all these years and hasn’t changed a single picture. You will be on Hinge looking at them still being on Hinge and think, “How sad…”
Most likely she probably didn’t recognize me. Seven years later, I look so much worse, so I wouldn’t recognize me either.
Happy Monday