I have put myself on and off the apps for decades. And as per usual, I download them, and delete them at the first sign of a shirtless selfie in a random bathroom with the toilet seat up, or a grown man’s idea of his best photo being one where his gun is out with a tag line that reads no fat chicks. And before you scoff and tell me it can’t be that bad, I beg you. Find your single friend and ask to see their hinge account. It’s real. All of it.
The swiping has been soul destroying. Combine that with the fucking raging fireball that tore through this last term, I took the antidepressants to dull the oncoming avalanche that I tried to dig my way out of it with a teaspoon. And we made it. Teaspoon worn down to the handle like I’d dug my own tunnel behind Rita Hayworth, we made it. The term ended and we are on holidays.
In a moment of joy and false bravado that comes from too many wines at 3pm to celebrate the end of a non-work day, I downloaded, again, one of the apps. Four swipes in, three wines in, I’d already regretted my decision. I closed the app, poured another wine and went back to instagram staring at a wood chopper in a white t-shirt which so far had been far more satisfying than the dating apps had ever been.
I went back to planning the holidays we’ve always wanted and the left the app closed and lost in the recently downloaded folder nowhere near my Home Screen. It was December. There are presents to buy, lights to put up, a tree to decorate and a fucking elf to hide. And the closest I came to swiping is hearing Dora in a 2008 Christmas special that Abbie found on tv, yell “Swiper, no swiping.”
It was enroute in one of these December jobs, strapped and trapped in the car in December traffic, she says, like she’s asking me if we can get nuggets on the way home, “Mum, have you found someone to marry yet?”
I laughed first, then I realised she was actually serious. She knows I marry people who love each other. She also knows that marriage is for two people , who are not your family, who love each other so much, that they want to be family. In our home, that in itself is incredibly problematic. Our incredibly broad definition of who she believes is her family means that everyone we know, isn’t actually available to marry.
Not to be deterred, she starts listing the men she knows as possible options. Chef Dan from daycare, the man at the shops whose name she doesn’t know… and even when I point out that he’s already married, she starts listing the mum’s of the kids she likes at school.
It’s actually a beautiful conversation when we get down to it, her points was that she wants me to have someone who loves me. And even when I mentioned that I do, I have her, and the rest of our family, my emotionally intelligent and observant mermaid sighs and replied, “No mum, someone super special.”
I managed to turn the conversation around to her, and not my abysmal marriage prospects, but she has a way of making you think anything is possible. So I opened the app. I opened the app almost believing her hype, thinking a slightly podgy, nerd who likes sport and sometimes dresses like a lumberjack would be in my app inbox with a witty opening line about dinosaurs.
There wasn’t. But it was close. A fucking unicorn. A slightly podgy nerd, who likes sport, and wearing flannel had liked my photo. There wasn’t a message asking me about my favourite dinosaur, but when I liked his like back, he did ask me what my entrance song would be if I was a wrestler?
He could be perfect. Or he could absolutely be a middle aged man who scrapes the mould off cheese. But neither matters. What matters most is if my five year old has the ability to remind me that it’s ok to want more. It’s ok for our family to change, and all we both need is to be surrounded by people who love us. Family for real life or chosen.
After all, family in our house is allowed to grow anyway we want. But I did tell her to keep an eye out in her travels and let me know if she meets any we both might like. Also – my entrance song… Truth Hurts by Lizzo.
life in big frilly knickers 