First, what the fuck? What the fuck do you mean you’re looking for someone who “remembers the little things”? Isn’t that the default prompt that Coffee Meets Bagel gives you under “my ideal date is…”? Is that how casual you’re feeling on this app? Because you are on this app. Everyone’s desperate, nobody is here just for fun, all casualness is a lie. I’ll give you time to think about it. I hope you’re on your introverted part of your ambivertness, or your introverted extrovertness.
Hey, here’s a tip for writing a fantastic profile. Save yourself the shame and loathing that only dating apps can manifest with radio silence. Slam down a few glasses of the cheapest liquor you can grab, find the thickest skinned acquaintance you have and casually mention that there’s been a dry spell on CMB or Tinder for the longest time. They’ll snatch your phone and you won’t protest because your guard’s lowered. Get your profile pimp’d to that person’s liking, so that all your matches become thick skinned individuals.
Fuck it, nobody reads your profile. Once they realise how hot/meitu’d the natural beauty / pasty dumpling-whiteness of your profile is, they’ll go on to like/pass you and you’ll end up with a list full of thirsty nerds / thirsty nerds. Except me. I’M different. My profile? Self loathing, but with a hint of irony. I’m perfect for you. I don’t know what the other guys look like, but I’m a bit perfect for you. Maybe if you stopped being so cute with your pixie cut, I’d for once not get a pop-up saying it’ll take 11 days for you to see me because there have been 50 others with this particular thing for girls like you, why not send a bunch of virtual flowers to woo you. By the way, CMB? Really unprogressive.
Face it, every male on CMB’s either a fucking nerd or a catfish (not mutually exclusive) . They’ll beg, grovel and prostrate to get your attention. The cool fuck-bois all congregate at Tinder with their tanks tops and shades and undercuts and constipated bouldering faces. I tried Tinder and I get all the Muslim ladies from Batam and the occasional guy.
I went to the barber the other day, queued for 20 minutes and told the lady to cut my hair just like the cocky 20 something business guys I keep bumping into and internally scowling at. She told me “no undercuts ah” presumably because $12 isn’t enough to cover the kind of mad skill required (hint, hint: You’re cutting LESS hair) Later on, she’d tell me there was going to be a little undercut anyway because I told her to go easy on the top. I’d call myself an accidental genius, but then again I shaved off a platoonmate’s sideburns during NS. Thank God he was actually autistic and didn’t give a shit.
And fuck me! Why are you (am I) still following that girl you (I) saw twice on tinder, on insta? She has a boyfriend now and all you’re (I’m) doing is watching her story of how he’s rubbing her knee bruise, which I (you) doubt is helping but hey, she’s the one working towards a Sport Science degree, isn’t she.
Are you waiting for that one day when she’s taking a long, long shit and browsing through who’s seen her stories when she notices your unfamiliar handle before she starts messaging you in a thirsty frenzy because of how cute your instastories are or how little of your face you show on your account?
There was once in primary school where my composition turned from first person to third by the end, and the teacher did a triple question mark in incredulity.
I think I did it again here.
Love,
Your Coffee
P.S. Please give me a chance. I’m quirky! See my profile picture? It was me in my slimmer days. I’m pointing towards the beach and there’s a sign saying TO THE BEACH at the back. Cute, isn’t it? No filter, all me, I can’t boulder. Please give me a chance.
Leave a Reply