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Logging on in deepest Southland, my chum was matched with a man in Invercargill who was very keen for my friend to come to his house – an internet dating no-no.So my friend asked for the initial meeting to take place somewhere public, whereupon it transpired Tinder-man was on home detention and couldn’t go any further than his front door.She also said she was happily settled with a new chap, whom she’d met the old-fashioned way, and what’s more, she could feel her as-yet unconceived daughter around her.Clearly we were from different tribes, but I still thought it was worth following through – after all, nothing ventured, nothing gained.I suspect I’m too shy to seriously advertise myself on the internet.Or perhaps I was put off by a friend’s Tinder tale.But meeting this mythical man, who can fix a bike puncture and prune a fruit tree, who wants to kayak around New Zealand and keep chickens, who prefers good books over All Blacks – I just don’t know where to find him.I’ve never felt comfortable with the prospect of Tinder; for some reason it doesn’t light my fire, and the chaps on Findsomeone haven’t kindled much of anything, either.
And the more we slid lightly over my life, the more I realised she couldn’t possibly know me.
It would cost 0 for the first three introductions, after which time I could sign up for more if those first three hadn’t met with success.
I also learnt a fair bit about the matchmaker’s assistant.
And my day – even if I’d found a cure for cancer and been to the moon – none of that would warrant a footnote.
Clearly it was time to take the bull by the horns, metaphorically speaking, at least.
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”, he’d yawn and say, “Oh, but I’m so tired.” Presumably tuckered out from talking about himself.