Given the haunted crypt that is my love life, it makes sense that I would eventually meander my way on over to Tinder, which is like the Taco Bell of dating. And having now swiped right and left to my lonely heart’s desire, I can confirm with absolute certainty that the single people in my area are a complete catastrophe. I’ve seen shirtless mirror pics. I’ve seen mullets. I’ve seen opening lines that ranged from “Hey, cuddle buddy” to “Life is a garden… I dig it.”
The problem, I realized, is that I have a type, and that type is fictional. I don’t think I’m alone in this. Let’s just put all our cards on the table and agree that the world would be a better place if Tinder was beset with the likes of Aragorn and Mr. Darcy.