However, among my reciprocated right-swipes on Tinder was a cute French PhD student, and he actually bothered to strike up a conversation β a rarity on any dating app these days. Don't forget to turn on notifications! And so I committed the ultimate dating sin: ghosting.
Horrid, I know. I suppose I should have felt bad, but I was the teeniest bit of a sod back then. Flash forward to August, , and my spectral snub had come to haunt me. Remember me now? I did!
I cursed my dreadful memory and bad choices and fetched my proverbial shovel. Exactly how I managed to dig myself out of that cringefest escapes my mind at this time. Believe it or not though, the outcome was a date the following afternoon. And at my suggestion, too. Twist in the tale, huh? Seven years, three flat moves, one pandemic a million more glasses of wine, a billion more slabs of cheese, and oodles of killer banter later, Antoine and I are still together.
After my conversation with Antoine, it became clear that nothing would be happening between my sheets that night, so I logged off Grindr. The awkward convo had left me in disbelief but oddly, given the circumstances, excited. I love a French accent, so my ears looked forward to that. The question was: was Antoine still a little dull?
The next day came around and I found my answer over cheese and wine. Instead, he showed up full of top-drawer chat. It turned out that we had both dated a dumpster fire of a man, so comparing notes on him alone gave us plenty of laughs.
