wildscape. literary journal

Totally Non-Hypothetical Reasons Why I Either Set Fire to My Phone or Swipe Right on Dating Apps
by Meredith Hughes

On Bumble:

Left	Right
Liking to hike is not a personality trait.	You have a grammatical error in your bio, and I want to correct you.
Your name is Benjamin—you’re the 500th one I’ve seen this hour.	There is not an offer to put me in a coma from “Daddy Dick.”
You describe yourself as “a bit of a goofball,” “down to earth,” “weird,” or D) All of the Above.	You don’t speak in code like: “For the love of God, please have a sense of humor,” aka “I’m a racist, sexist homophobe.”
That’s a really great bathroom mirror selfie with the toilet seat up in the background, says everyone ever.	You’re willing to share the burden of existential dread that comes with living in late-stage capitalism and/or order me DoorDash.
You don’t live above ground. I may live with my mother, but I am no gopher.	You live at least ten miles away from your parents’ basement.
Too good-looking.	The American Flag is not worn in any sort of way: bowties, shirts, hats, onesies.
Not handsome enough to tempt me.	Conversely, and I shouldn’t have to say this, the confederate flag is not pictured hanging in the rear window of your truck.
That is a really impressive picture of a fish.	Speaking of flags, there’s something remotely resembling a Progress Flag in one of your pictures.
You work for a pet cremation service. What if you pull a Dwight Schrute and decide it’s time to euthanize one of my cats?	None of your pictures show you wearing a shirt that says, “My beard is the only hair that should be between your legs.”
That’s an even better selfie of you in a car. Well, look at that. You’re obsessed with your 1995 Honda Civic.	You don’t say things like, “Your personality should comprise more than your political beliefs.” Patrick, my political beliefs are 97% of my identity. I just can’t think of how to be a person without them.
You’re a Nice Guy™	You admit that you’re a sinner and sloth was ruining your life.
You use the phrase “looking for someone who takes care of themselves” as code for “not fat.”	You’re less than handsome but sound remotely interesting in that you’ve read one book in the last fifteen years other than The Lord of the Rings.
Your political leanings are “apolitical” and your religious beliefs are “agnostic.” Believe in something, will ya?	Liberal to communist political beliefs with a sprinkle of Christianity—the love and kindness parts, not the smite to hell part.
It’s habit at this point.	There are cats in your pictures. Cat men are superior men.

On Hinge:

Left	Right
I am not “in search of a pickleball partner.” I’m in search of a “fall of late-stage capitalism partner.”	Having a therapist and knowing your self-destructive tendencies. Mine is over-thinking. Or is it?
I do not want to start the conversation if you pick the topic of “my favorite place in the world.”	There aren’t pictures of you petting your dog while sitting on the toilet with your pants down and your shirt nowhere to be found. I did not need to find out you wear tighty-whities that way, Dave.
Your religion is listed as “other.” Other what? Otherworldly? You might as well say “N/A.”	You don’t have a basic bro name like Josh, Chad, or Jake.
I do not, in fact, want to debate Chipotle vs. Currito.	You have a beard or are a beard. Beards get me.
Your simple pleasure is humor. I get it; you think you’re funny.	Your voice prompt shows you have good comedic timing but that you’re not funnier than me.
I don’t care that you geek out on Harry Potter.	Your profession is something I find useful, like lawncare so I won’t have to mulch, or a hitman to smite my enemies, or your employee discount is useful to me, like the at fish store so I can buy discount worms for my axolotls.
You say the first round is on you if I can sing the lyrics to most of Morgan Wallen’s songs.	You’ve already liked me.
You’re convinced that you sound cultured because you watch a foreign sitcom by saying, “Pitter patter, let’s get at ‘er.” America is Canada’s trashy neighbor, Blake.	The phrase “active and ambitious” is not something you’re looking for. I’m a sedentary procrastinator.
The one thing you’d like to know about me is my favorite movie.	You don’t use the phrase “ideal father figure” to describe having a dad bod.
You’re looking for someone who is “positive and a joy to be around.”	Your irrational fears are totally rational. Of course, every elevator you ride in is potentially going to fall, plummeting you to your death.
“Together we could . . . travel the world like the virus did.” Thankfully, sir, I’ve been vaccinated against your stupidity.	You ask me to give you travel tips for Europe. Sure, it’s basic, but I’ll basically be in Europe on your dime, and at least it’s not traveling to Florida with your mom. I already do that with my mom.
I don’t give a shit that you take pride in your Costco membership, Cody. I still share one with my mom.	Unlike Jonathon, you do not have a tattoo of a UFO flying over an astronaut planting an American flag on your nipple, though that is inventive.
You ask what I bring to the table besides boobs.	You don’t say that dating you is like dating a horny little Care Bear (looking at you, Micah.)
Your life goal is something other than huddling together and watching the fall of our society in this late-stage capitalistic era.	You know that the phrase “late-stage capitalism” exists, and you use it correctly in a sentence.

On Tinder:

Left	Right
You’re a white, cisgender, heterosexual man.

about the author // Meredith Hughes