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My ego boosted each time I got a like, and it started to dawn on me that maybe my divorce didn’t actually mean that I’d lost my only shot at being with a person who wanted to be with me.
The last time I was single and looking for a date, I had a flip phone. It was blue and it fit snugly between my boobs when I needed to use my bra as a pocket.
I used it to peck out text messages in T-9 to the women I wanted and wooed, one of whom I would spend the next decade with and eventually marry.
I swiped the correct direction on some total babes, and some total babes swiped in favor of me, and I met some nice gals.
But it took a while for anyone to notice my profile, and as exciting as getting a notification about someone liking you is, no one liking you is as disappointing.
Before you’re allowed to use it, for example, you are given a picture of a person – mine was a woman waving – and you have to mimic that pose in a picture and send it in to Zoe.
The app continued to ask me questions about myself, which I answered honestly but vaguely, and then it told me that when I was browsing for ladies, it would show me a triangle with our percentage match.
If you wanted to get digital about it – I mean find people online, pervs – you had Craigslist, the w4w section, whose posts should be memorialized in a museum somewhere.
Such vulnerability about what and who you wanted, even when the women were listed anonymously, was a wonder to me back then, before I’d learned to be comfortable in my own skin.
Those were the days of playing the odds on a haircut or a pair of Chuck Taylors, when you didn’t know if your advances would earn you a date or a punch in the mouth.
It was life then, and I knew it felt like a struggle, but it also just felt like how it was.
What I can tell you is that no matter how old you are, getting a message that says, “Someone likes you!