Creative Writing Local

The Tinder Chronicles Part 3: Ring A Ring O’ Roses

Words by: Beth Commons


I’d been talking to this boy sporadically for about a month. He worked away but happened to be in Perth the week that I contacted him and we organised to meet in the city. He clicked his fingers a lot. I felt immediately comfortable, mainly because I wasn’t clicking my fingers.

We found ourselves in a bar that was full of suited men and made up ladies, he bought me a drink and we sat down in armchairs. Our waitress was french and he asked her where she was from. ‘France’, she said. I asked her whereabouts and she told me she was from Montpellier, I told her I had been there and that it was beautiful. He asked me when I’d been to Montpellier and we spoke about Europe.

There was something about this boy that made me feel very out of my depth. Maybe it was the fact that he was an engineer and I was barely a student or maybe it was the fact that I had asked for the most inexpensive gin when ordering my drink, whatever it was it was very apparent.

We left in search of food and on our way out he bumped into an old uni friend. He didn’t introduce me. I didn’t introduce myself.

We sat in an empty beer cafe and I nibbled at the large chips that he ordered whilst he ate chorizo. He asked me what I thought about the institution of marriage, I told him I didn’t like it and he agreed. He was relieved and said to me ‘so you don’t want to marry me, then?’.

‘Not yet,’ I replied. he laughed.

He pointed out that our date was going well and that it far exceeded the other tinder dates he’d been on. Then he told me he was going to bounce as he balanced a fork on a glass and then pulled a face when it fell to the table. I didn’t respond directly to his statement.

He told me he was going to bounce, this time not balancing a fork on his glass and I nodded. He took a deep breath and said to me ‘you should come drink a beer’. He was very aware of the fact that I don’t like beer.

On the car ride I caught him looking at me. He told me that I was very hard to read sometimes. I apologised and helped him work out which Lana Del Rey song was stuck in his head. Blue jeans.

Upon our arrival at his home I was introduced to his housemate, a large-bearded man who was lounging in front of a gargantuan tv. I don’t remember his name but I remember it being something unusual. I was then introduced to his other housemate, also a large-bearded man. I tried to appear casual as I watched this boy and his housemates banter in the kitchen whilst drinks were organised. A tea-towel pursuit arose and they took a good five minutes to collectively find one amongst dirty/clean washing/general clothes that were piled onto an office chair.

We then all sat in their lounge room and watched youtube videos. One of which was an aladdin song in croatian.

This boy abruptly stood up and announced that he was going for a spa. I asked him if I could come. I joked about leaving me in front of the tv like a child.

I’m not sure how I feel about this bit because I’m slightly disappointed in myself. This particular night I had worn tremendous ‘granny panties’, mostly to deter myself from sleeping with men, yet here I was asking this boy to look the other way as I very ungracefully lowered myself into the spa.

I then sat in the spa cross legged and didn’t say much.

‘You’re looking very much like a pretzel right now.’

‘Don’t you like pretzels?’

laughter.

Twenty minutes later we were in his bed and he was all over my butt. I texted my boyfriend halfway through in a little interval that had arose. I texted my boyfriend asking him to come and pick me up. He obliged and this tinder boy made the most of the remaining time we had together.

Upon my departure in the softly lit porch I offered him a fist bump, he laughed and returned my fist bump. I walked myself out of the complex that he lived in.