Husband joined online dating
Monogamy had made me capable of getting drunk on the male-attention equivalent of Miller Lite.
In just a few days, men I’d never met had offered to date me, to degrade me, to make me come a dozen times, to take me to dinner, to take me to Paris, to make me couscous.
” He looked at me the same way he’d looked at me when I suggested we move in together, or marry, or breed, an expression equal parts terror and love. We picked each other’s profile pictures, bounced off the other’s possible bios.
We both agreed that the most appealing descriptors seemed to be the shortest.
It seemed common knowledge that apps like Tinder had transformed single life and dating. We weren’t fighting constantly or sleeping in separate bedrooms.
We shared a house, political viewpoints, the responsibility of raising two small kids.
For our birthdays, we bought each other things like electric blankets and warm wool socks and a Vitamix blender for making soup. Maybe there wasn’t much in the way of excitement, novelty, or fun.
Why isn’t every married woman in the world on Tinder, I began to wonder. Then we winked at each other for a few minutes, back and forth. He worked as some kind of consultant for an NGO and had been stationed for a year in a war-torn African country.
It all felt the way romance was supposed to feel —playful and exciting and unserious. We had a pleasant exchange of texts, a couple of warm conversations with decent rapport.
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