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He had a remarkable ability to see the silver lining in everything. His positive personality was contagious to everyone he met. Troy is survived by his father, grandfather, and one needy cat.
Lucky for you, all of the above is mostly true except that Troy’s not actually dead. He’s very much alive and eager to see if you’re a match.
Lordy.
My phone vibrated, scaring the living hell out of me. It was a text from Jasmine, making sure I’d gotten home okay. But then the screen changed. Wait, what? When my hand jerked, I’d accidentally swiped right on Troy’s profile. I wouldn’t have even realized this were it not for the words: It’s a match!
What?
Oh no.
No. No. No.
If we matched, that meant one thing: Troy had previously swiped right on me. Ugh! How long had he known I was on here?
I threw the phone again, as if it were infected with yet another dangerous virus.
For about a minute, I just sat in a panic, my hands wrapped around my face.
Then I picked up the phone to try to undo the action. But before I could find the information, a notification popped up. Troy had sent me a direct message through the app.
My heart pounded in my chest. I clicked on it.
Troy: Well, well, well. What do we have here?
I couldn’t type fast enough.
Aspyn: We have nothing here. I accidentally swiped right on your profile. This was a mistake.
My pulse raced as the little dots moved around.
Troy: Um, what now? How exactly does that happen? Accidentally swiping right?
I realized how ridiculous that sounded. But it was the damn truth! Figures the stupidest thing ever would happen to me, and I’d never be able to convince him it was true.
Aspyn: My phone vibrated and startled me. I happened to be looking at your profile at the time.
Troy: Oh, that explains it. Phones vibrating can be quite traumatic.
I blew a frustrated breath toward my forehead.
Aspyn: You don’t have to believe me, but it’s the truth.
Troy: Why were you looking at my profile?
Aspyn: Because this stupid app force fed it to me.
Troy: So, were you looking at my pictures, thinking: “Damn, he’s a handsome sonofabitch. Too bad I hate him.”
Aspyn: You got the last part right. ;-)
Troy: What did you think of my profile?
Aspyn: Honestly?
Troy: Yeah.
Aspyn: It’s utterly obnoxious.
Troy: Why do you say that?
Aspyn: That fake obituary? LOL Do you expect people to take you seriously?
Troy: It was supposed to be FUNNY and clever. I thought you said you liked funny men, according to your boring-as-fuck bio.
Aspyn: If I’m so boring, why the hell did you swipe right on me?
Troy: Because I couldn’t get myself to swipe left. I felt bad for you. Let’s talk about your bio, though.
I looked up and screamed at the ceiling. My voice echoed throughout the house.
Aspyn: Let’s not.
Troy: Boring. As. Fuck. First off, though, a compliment: You look really hot in those photos. I barely recognized you.
I refused to acknowledge the chill that ran down my spine at his backhanded compliment. Instead, I typed again.
Aspyn: Nothing like immediately following up an insult with a compliment and then another insult.
Troy: It’s constructive criticism. I know you’re better than that bio. It was as if you copied and pasted it from some other boring-as-fuck profile.
Aspyn: There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s simple and to the point. You’re not supposed to write a dissertation—or an obituary.
Troy: But you’re not selling who you actually are.
Aspyn: I didn’t realize I was supposed to be “selling” myself. I have enough trouble on the app attracting losers without doing anything at all. Maybe I should intentionally remain boring to keep them away. Yeah, that’s a better idea.
Troy: Well, your photos are the bomb. So you’re gonna attract a fair share of men. But come on, put a little life into the other stuff.
Aspyn: I was embarrassed for you reading your profile.
Troy: Well, at least within my fake obituary lies the essence of who I am.
Aspyn: A buffoon? You’re correct.
Troy: Let me help you rewrite your bio.
I cackled and typed.
Aspyn: No, thank you.
Troy: Give me a sec.
Oh, Lord. What is this man doing right now?
Aspyn: You’re insufferable.
Several minutes passed with no response from Troy. I wasn’t sure what I was wishing for at this point. Did I want him to come back on and continue this conversation, or did I want him to disappear? A part of me was enjoying this. I couldn’t deny that. But I was annoyed at myself for sitting here like an idiot as I waited at the edge of my seat. So, I got up and made myself another pot of tea.
When I returned, nothing had come in. Yet still, like a dummy, I waited.
I immediately regretted not logging off when Troy’s next message finally popped up.
Troy: Here’s your new profile:
Aspyn, 29: I’m the girl who’ll key your car if you hurt the ones I love. And be very afraid if I bring you donuts, particularly Boston cream. You should be scared of me, but you haven’t stopped reading yet, have you? Because let’s face it, those first couple of lines intrigued you. They kept your attention, so you stopped scrolling. The truth is, I’m passionate, complex, and far from the boring cookie-cutter types you find yourself swiping left on. If you’re looking for a challenge, someone who’s not easily pleased, then I’m your girl. I run on black coffee and anything that tastes like dirt. Don’t bother bringing me chocolates, because I’ll throw them right back in your face. Here’s the thing, though. I might be tough to please, but I’m unique. And I’m worth the effort of getting to know me. You’ve probably read this far because you couldn’t take your eyes off my pictures. And the photos don’t even show the best part. Let’s just say they don’t call me ASS-pyn for nothing—so bootylicious and jiggly that Goofy looks like he’s laughing when I walk in my Disney scrubs at work. (All real, by the way.) No catfishing here. Hit me up and see if we match.
