After ten minutes of contemplating if this is the Universe's way of telling me that I‘m not compatible with any men (Mum's been saying it for years), I realign my social-media gender.
If you believe the hype, a growing number of people like me are getting repetitive strain injury from swiping 'yes' to intimate invitations from relative strangers.
I keep coming back for more cheap, mindless thrills throughout the day. Online, I simply opt-in to a flirt, and if I don't respond no one gets hurt. Thursday I'm headed to Yorkshire to visit a friend for the evening and take the opportunity to spin the Tinder wheel.
It seems northern men are better at smalltalk and far more fond of vests.
I’m honest about being a writer but I don't rein in my flirting.
He's cute so I take the ethnographic approach as he describes the back-and-forth of flirting on Tinder as “tedious intellectual foreplay." He tells me he’s met up with several Tinderers with the sole aim of having sex almost immediately – a game plan that has seen him ditched more times than it’s worked.