Some fall in love at first sight, some fall in love at first swipe. I just so happened to meet the love of my life on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. My iPhone vibrated rapidly. “You have a new message from Harrison!” lit up across the banner.
“Harrison?” I thought to myself. Oh yes! We matched with each other that past weekend and I was starting to remember why. I was craving some male attention—well, parts of me were—and this guy looked like the child of Liam Hemsworth and Jesus. Just as I was about to send him an adorkable message like “hi-ya pal,” my phone vibrated again. It was Harrison, whose words read like poetry.
“Do you know what my shirt is made of? Boyfriend material.”
Adorable. I mean sure, he probably Googled “pick-up lines” and this one sucked the least, but whatever. It’s Tinder, not some who’s-the-most-creative off. I wasn’t sure how to tope this, but in any case, our conversation that followed was nothing short of a modern-day love story/lyrics to a Taylor Swift song.
Me: “I’ve been shopping around for that apparel. Could you point me in the direction of arm candy accessories?”
Harrison: “Absolutely. Do you prefer a dark, 6’4’’ length scarf, perhaps Italian made? Or an all American stud.”
Me: “I literally have no idea what any of that even means or what nationality you even are from that—were you going to decide to be Italian or American based on my response?”
We talked non-stop for the rest of the day, flip flopping between serious debates and cheesy topics. Neither of us wanting to end the conversation and/or apparently jobs that needed to be tended to.
Harrison: “I think there is something wrong with my phone. It doesn’t have your number in it.”
Oh, he was smooth. And really on top of his Google pick-up line game. That night we made plans for our first date. I couldn’t go another day without meeting this boy. Let’s fast forward to the next day, the day I met the love of my life. I tried to calm my jitters before our first date. What was the worst thing that could happen? He’s ugly? No, I already stalked his Facebook. He’s awkward and boring? How could that be, he’s so clever when we text. What if he’s a “bad boy?” Wait, I love bad bitches… that’s, in fact, my fucking problem.
I made my way towards Lake Street while reapplying my lip-gloss. I turned the corner and stepped onto the concrete of the Terrace, when from a distance I thought I spotted my man. He wasn’t even facing me, but that posture in those khakis is so Harrison. I was feet away from my prize when the most dramatic gust of wind takes over the Terrace. At the exact same moment, he pivots on his left foot making eye contact. Does he have a bouquet in his hands?
He did not. But he did have a bum leg that he conveniently left out of all his profile pictures. And a large psychological dependency on marijuana, which, you know, could’ve been brought to my attention sooner.
Fast forward four years: It’s Harrison and my wedding day. He wears a bow tie like the one I loved in his Tinder picture. We never thought such a small flick of the finger could change each other’s lives forever. Now look at us, we’re getting hitched! The best part is my strict, conservative family could not be more approving of the fine young man I met “at church.”
Just kidding. He ended our date by convincing me to have sex with him while he was dressed as Chewbacca and I am still in therapy trying to overcome what happened. You want a Tinder love story? Yeah, well I want a million dollars and the opportunity to take back the day I ever let a Wookiee make sweet, intergalactic love to me while I wore a Jabba the Hut costume.