Objects in Mirror Feel Closer than they Appear

Let me start this whole thing off by saying I can be intelligent… in very select areas. I have an encyclopedic knowledge of some things (like dog breeds — big help), while others I can’t seem to nail down. I have a general disregard for my physical, emotional, and mental wellbeing, which is what brought me to move to England, on the brink of a pandemic. While not the reason I chose to move to London, maybe here something would happen; a fancy, new city where I could find my true love, or at least a stable and normal relationship.

Like most of my cohorts, I have begun to rely on online dating. I hate saying that, solely for the lack of my own confidence in admitting I had to go online; that it wasn’t a spectacular meet-cute or my ravishing beauty that brought the man of my dreams to me. To be honest, all that my looks seem to draw are unwanted catcalls and men leaning out of their vehicles to tell me I have a great ass. Thanks, I work out.

I signed up for Hinge. I tried Bumble, where the woman has 24 hours to message first, but couldn’t keep up with it. While I outwardly exude confidence, inwardly I am about as self-assured as a potato — a nickname I have been given due to my comparisons to the tuber. Hinge is a mixed bag. The general consensus of it is that people go onto Hinge to find a partner. Great, that’s what I want. New city, new…