a psychoanalysis of my hinge profile million dollar question

wow that was all rather unhinged

The Twitter group chat wanted to know what I was like on dating apps. I told them I hated dating apps until I found Hinge. I liked Hinge because it was the best way to express my creativity.

What does that mean, they asked. Please tell us more, they said.

No, you don’t want to know, I told them. Those days are behind me.

Please, they said.

Fine, I said.

I metaphorically dragged my feet into the App Store and redownloaded the cursed little white icon with the black stylistic H. I reactivated my profile for a second and took some screenshots of my most “impressive” answer to a prompt.

I sent them to the chat. Everyone was horrified. They all wished I hadn’t done that.

Months later, at a chili night in New York, Tommy from the poor chat recalled his traumatized experience.

You literally wrote the most gross thing I’ve ever seen, he said.

How did anyone want to sleep with you after that?

This made me memorable, I shot back.

For the record, they had a good time.

What was it? asked David, who was in the chat, but not on that day.

In response to, what is your worst fear — I wrote:

“That bugs will crawl up my vajayjay and I’ll incubate a new STI.”

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Ok a quick word on why this freaks me out so bad —