The world of online dating is one of repetition. Something which I find HIGHLY aggravating.
(Even though I KNOW that I can’t particularly take it out on all the guys asking me all the same questions because I TOO realize that they often cover the basics you DO need to know about a new person. I do. I still fucking hate it though.).
Take for instance the 1000-a-week ‘How was your day so far?’-s. Or the ‘So, do you have anything planned for tonight? The weekend? Next century?‘. Even worse: the ‘How can someone like you still be single?‘ questions. Or the more detailed ‘How long have you been single for?‘ or ‘been on this app long?‘ queries. I get that you might feel the need to determine how much of a well-seasoned (or the very unkind Dutch version: ‘afgelikte boterham‘) and possibly-psycho middle-aged woman I am, but it’s so irrelevant imho. Plus – asking me how many guys I banged is way more effective if that’s really of a determining interest to you, instead of treading carefully around that topic. So damn generic and ultimately tiring if you’re answering the same thing to a line-up of fellas (and then have to remember who you said what to).
But alas – there is no way to get around the fact that every new person has the same sort of checklist and basic questions that they’re used to using and getting out of the way. Fact of life.
But there’s one question in there that I despise a tad more than the others: The idiotic question into the ‘meaning of my name‘. It almost inevitably happens. Most guys I speak to WILL at some point comment on my name. Unique and all that, I gettit. There’s a hyphen in there…SHOCKING. Which is fine. FINE. I understand, you’ve never seen the name before. It looks weird. It’s two parts. Sure, ask me about it.
AFTER asking me HOW my parents managed to find this deluded combo of names (and I inevitably tell them the story of how my mom and grandma were too stubborn to let their selections go, so they opted on sticking ’em together after (thank god) ruling out my dad with his ‘Esmeralda‘ suggestion) there’s the inevitable follow-up: What does your name mean?!
Who. Friggin. Cares.
Like seriously. WHO. WHAT RELEVANCE IS THIS INFORMATION TO YOU?!
Sure, my mad Google skills can teach me that Zoë is usually derived from old Greek Zoos and hence means life. But I can tell you for damn sure that that is knowledge that my parents did not have NOR bothered to look up. It was selected for sounding pretty. Or because it reminded them of that one girl in band camp a decade ago or some other arbitrary idiotic reason. And Amber, outside of being a silly sort of gemstone formed from resin and apparently also meaning ‘Sunlight‘ is not a way of combining the two into the lovely possible meaning ‘Sunlight of my life‘. It just isn’t. I could tell you that it is, but then – WHY WOULD I.
Would it enrich your life? Does it genuinely interest you? WHY WHY WHY.
Men of the world – just like you all hate girls who are heavily into astrology and build entire relationships built on their libra matching a zebra – I do NOT need to know how our names would combine into a lovely PG baby-combo. I just don’t. Find me something else to ask. ANYTHING. REALLY. I’ll even take the wrung out weekend question over it, any day.
Up for some more Tinder Tales?
Tinder Tales – Picture Perfect
Tinder Tales – Virtually Unique
Tinder Tales – Why ARE we here?
Tinder Tales – Darn those algorithms!
Tinder Tales – Anal.
Tinder Tales – Picky
Tinder Tales – But what does it mean?!
Tinder Tales – The curious case of the neckbeard