Earlier, I took full advantage of her dining hall privileges. Had a yummy dinner, chilled with some cool chicks, fended off the advances of a few lacrosse guys. But now the boredom is creeping in, and for the past forty minutes I’ve been lying on Aisha’s bed, mindlessly swiping through Tinder profiles.
I don’t use dating apps much, but what else do I have to do right now? I can’t call any of my friends—they’re all back at Briar, either attending the semifinals game against Yale, or playing in it. I can’t watch the game on the New England station because Tansy and Aisha don’t have a TV, and I was unable to find a live stream on my phone.
So, chatting with random dudes it is.
Within two minutes of opening the app, I matched with about fifteen guys. And fourteen out of fifteen have already messaged me, an assortment ofheyyyandhey sexy, a handful of heart-eyes emojis, and a “holy shit are you real??”
The last one brings a laugh to my throat. I peek at the guy’s profile again. His name is Aaron, he has the lean, lanky build of a basketball player, and a great smile. Rolling onto my side, I message him back.
ME:Sometimes I wonder.
HIM:LOL
ME:I mean, what is real? Are any of us real? Is the sky real?
HIM:The sky’s not real. Sorry to break it to you…
ME:OMG. What is it then?
HIM:We’re in a dome. It’s like a Truman show scenario.
ME:Um. Spoiler alert, dude. I’ve never seen that movie!
HIM:You should. It’s so good. You’d be really into it. I’m a film major so we watch a lot of really cool shit in class.
ME:Sounds awesome. So what’s your specialty? Screenwriting? Directing?
HIM:Directing. I’m gonna win an Oscar one day :) Actually, I already make my own movies.
At first I’m intrigued. Until he follows it up with a winky face.
Uh-oh.
I decide to keep my response vague, because I sense where this is heading.
ME:That’s cool.
HIM:You’re not going to ask what kind of movies I make? ;)
ME:I have a fairly good idea.
Two more winky faces appear.
HIM:You’re so gorgeous. I love your body. I’d love to feature you in one of my movies.
Although he hasn’t officially gone full douche yet, it’s only a matter of time, so I kibosh the conversation by typing, Sorry, I’m not interested in being an actress.
HIM:I bet your tits are so sexy. Mmmmmm, and your nipples. I’d love to suck on them and film myself doing it.
Ugh. Why?Why?
I unmatch him without delay and stare up at the ceiling.
I am honestly starting to question evolution. We went from cavemen, to Homo sapiens, to this incredible society of great minds—Alexander Graham Bell inventing telephones, Steve Jobs inventing…everything. And now we’re devolving. We’ve travelled back to cavemen, only nowadays we call them fuckboys.
Evolution has come full circle and that’s a real bummer.
I groan out loud, willing my cousin to get home already. I can’t believe I’m missing the semifinals for this.