Illustration by Kim Salt
I swiped right on Sara two springs ago. Her witty Tinder tagline was “Drinker with a writing problem.” Amused, my opening text was an admission that I might have Facebook-statused that same phrase a few nights prior, but couldn’t be sure because I was drunk when I wrote it. The line worked and we were off to the races, furiously typing messages back and forth for several hours.
We met at the bar of her choice, 6:30 p.m. that next Thursday. I’d only been engaged in e-dating for a few months and was aware of the horror stories of the person showing up looking way less attractive than in their distinguished profile pics.
This was not one of those occasions.
A short, cute blonde with nice lips, hips and breasts, Sara wore a conservative red dress that was just the right amount of first-date sexy, along with wedges and a subtle matching necklace.
Like our lengthy texting sessions, the first twenty minutes of the date went smoothly, as we shot the usual shit over craft b…
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