Freshly out of a what should we call it and ready to mingle me, a couple of weeks ago I bought a yearly subscription for the Butch Femme Matchmaker and am also on Tinder. I haven’t revamped my Butch Femme Matchmaker profile yet as my laptop died and am still working on new photos. But Tinder is fun, you all!
My friends tell me I’m doing it wrong because:
– I swipe left on butches based on their earrings. Let me be. I’m traumatized (see #6).
– I swipe left on bisexual, pansexual or queer butches. Faster if they are also poly.
– I swipe left on smokers. I’m not going to make someone stop smoking just as no one is going to make me give up Nutella.
– I swipe left if I can’t understand their profile. I speak two languages fluently and can read three or four more so believe me when I say that, if I can’t understand what you are saying, it’s not me: it’s you.
– I swipe left on butches who I know for a fact are not single and whose happily partnered significant others have no idea they are on Tinder.
– I swipe left on self-deprecating butches fishing for compliments. Barf.
– I swipe left on butches who are in between jobs or directly plug their gofundme page. I already have a sugar baby. Thank you, next.
– I swipe left if I see a messy, Hoarders-level background. Dude, if cleaning your room is too much effort, go take the pic somewhere else in your house or outside.
– I eventually swipe right and match with gorgeous butches, but I don’t respond to one-liners. I’m not asking for a three-page essay (lowkey maybe) but put some effort. Give me something I can work with, something other than “hi beautiful” or “how’s it going?”, because I have no in between. You might get a coy “good, playing fetch with my cat” or end up spitting your coffee on yourself and the iPhone when you read: “good, could be better with your ears between my legs”. Seriously, if you want to go to a museum sometime or fuck my brains out, spell it out for me.
– I get turned off by and ignore sappy messages. If you just got out of a 20+ years marriage, maybe Tinder is not where you need to be or maybe I’m not the femme for you because, other than referring you to a therapist, I don’t know what to do with that information. Not even waiting for the first date, let it all out and send me running for the hills.
– Oprah and Tom Cruise’s God eventually sent me a butch blessed with a writing gene, we agree to drinks, a friend points out she looks like Marty Feldman, I google it, and it can be unseen. Drinks get cancelled aaaaaand we are back to square one!
Hashtag: hot femme summer.