That Time I Got Ghosted By A Woman I Was Really Excited About on Tinder

“I love people that love New Orleans”, I fired back a text. “They have great taste and know how to have fun.”

It’s only been a few rounds, but I’m recieving timely responses, and more than limp one word answers. I’m hype. In another rarity for me, the person at the other end of the messages is, at least in her photos, attractive, fit, youthful, and funny. In my handful of stints on Tinder, people I engage with are either quick to respond, eager to talk, OR actually physically attractive. Almost never both.

A conversation that doesn’t feel like pulling teeth, with someone I think is cute, just doesn’t happen. I feel like I found a $20 in the pocket of an old jacket. I’m already way too excited. I take a deep breath and roll my eyes at my own eagerness. It’s silly to be this excited over a few texts.

Over the next few hours, things continue to progress way better than usual. She intiates conversations, texts back quickly, sends LOLs and emojis in response to my jokes. “I think you should text me :-)”, she shoots me her phone number, unprompted. I do a touchdown dance in my living room. By Day 2, she’s calling me “super cute”, along with other sweet compliments. I’m ready to take things to the next level.

“You’re like a breath of fresh air”, she effuses, giggling when I make a cheeky movie reference. It’s been a solid 48 hours of inside jokes and witty banter. I tap out: “I think we should spend some time together. When are you free?” Before I can slip my phone back in my pocket, it buzzes her response. “I’m free all weekend. Just name the time and the place :-).” I suggest she meet me at a park in the city for a mystery date I have planned, 8 on Friday. “Perfect”, she agrees. I text back with a wink, “I was hoping you’d say that ;-)”.

Tinder is brutal for single guys. It feels too good to be true. Sexy women do not just fall out of the sky into my inbox.

I do know a handful of people currently in long term relationships that met through a fateful swipe. However, I’ve only been on a handful of dates. I use the blitz strategy of swiping right on almost everyone, then looking at photos and bios more closely once I match with someone. This results in a lots of matches, then I go through and either unmatch, or send a message if I’m interested. I have a few automatic disqualifiers: children, very overweight, in an existing relationship. It’s shocking how many women on dating apps are in open marriages, or otherwise coupled, and looking for a third.

My Tinder Bae and I exchange a few more messages before I turn in for the night, awash with all the excitement of a new internet love affair.

Things went swimmingly the next day, and Friday, the day of our first date. The plan was to meet a leafy historic park downtown. I was going to grab a few snacks and a blanket for a light picnic, then walk through the city showing her hidden graffiti spots I know.

Around lunch, 8 hours to our date, we were lobbing messages back and forth. I don’t like to spend all day texting, but she was chatty, and I had time. It was a relaxed Friday afternoon at my office.

At 5, I was wrapping up for the day. I grabbed my bag and headed out the door, thinking about which t-shirt I would wear for my big date. As I hit the parking lot, my phone buzzed with a text that sank my high flying mood.

“Hey, I’m leading a Black Lives Matter protest tonight. Can we meet later, or reschedule?” A wave of disappointment washed over me. I felt conflicted. On the one hand, I was bummed that the romantic date I had planned was getting pushed back, or cancelled completely. On the other hand, I thought “…Will she like Assata as a good name for our first child?” She had mentioned being “into activism”, but leading a Black Lives Matter protest?! I was stoked. For a person with bookshelves heavy with the works of Malcolm X, Eldridge Cleaver, Alice Walker and more, this was at least an awesome reason to be getting ditched.

I replied, “Let’s meet later, if you’re up for it. I’d love to hear about the protest” Her response: “OK! I’m excited but a little nervous. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

At 8 pm, I was chilling in my backyard hammock, imagining meeting my Tinder crush soon. At 9, I hopped in the shower, planning my outfit in my head. Ten o’clock came, and went. She still hadn’t texted. The cold shiver of disappointment started creeping over me. A little after 11, I warmed up leftovers and started a movie. By midnight, I was snoozing on the couch. I fished my phone out of my pocket to check my messages. She hadn’t reached out.

I’d been ghosted.