Tag Archives: relaltionship

Tinder Loving Care-Ten Things Tinder Taught Me



P. Charlotte Lindsay

Single mom, writer, and community service maven seeks kind, compassionate, intelligent, funny man, steady in his life – to exchange witty banter, clever repartee, and perhaps see where it leads. Tall is a plus. I’m 5’11”.”

P. Charlotte’s Blurb



It was a dire situation. Desperate even.

After fourteen years of marriage, commitment, hard work, and all things housewifely, I found out my man had another woman… for fourteen years.

BAM! All at once, I was single again.

After another year or three of crying about it, my friends, my family, even my children told me, “Enough! Time to move on.”

Problem was, I was a 45-­year­-old single mother of two who worked full-time. Not the best catch in LA’s sea of nubile young models and taught, budding actresses. Even worse, I had been on maybe a total of ten dates my entire life. You could count the number of men I’d slept with on three fingers.

Did I mention I was 45 and a single mom?

Nevertheless, one night my friend Peggy plied me with margaritas, teased my hair, painted my face, and dressed me up in all sorts of ‘so­ not­ me outfits.’ She took sexy pics, intellectual pics, and the requisite “sporty” pic. She fiddled at the computer, with my Facebook account, tinkered with my I-phone, and voilá – I was on Tinder.

Tinder is an “app.”

app |ap| noun

1. Abbreviation for “application.”

2. A small program that can be downloaded onto your phone with the help of a Peggy.

…And maybe the greatest invention of the 21st century, wherein with just a cell phone and the swipe of a finger, a 45-year-old woman can get a date… better yet, a 45-year-old single mom can get laid. (If that’s what she’s looking for).

At the time, I did not want to get laid.

I wanted to feel like a person again. Not a mom, or a broken heart. Not dog­-walker, or housekeeper, or neighbor, friend, boss, daughter, sister, writer… or anyone requiring any sort of need. I wanted to feel like my own separate self.

I wanted a man to sit across from me, in some sort of public space (preferably a restaurant) at some form of table (preferably at Chateau Marmont, but hell – I’d take Starbucks), with a beverage (other than water), and maybe even some food. (Am I pushing it?)

Then, I wanted this man to have a conversation with me wherein he would listen to me when I spoke, speak to me in turn, laugh with me, and I would feel pretty again.

In short, this man would pay attention to me.

Following, we would fall madly in love. He’d reveal he was a secret billionaire and ex­soccer star, who in his spare time worked to save orphans in Africa. He’d give me a massive diamond ring, and I’d drop twenty pounds from sheer joy (a yet to be discovered scientific diet-phenomenon), then we’d travel the world on his private jet and live happily ever after.

And this is exactly what I got….

Not really…

Well, not even close.
Stay with me. I’ll come back to this…

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