Posts When I got the short end of the stick(y)

When I got the short end of the stick(y)

by treenaorchard

Last time we left off with my first personal foray into the (sometimes) wonderful world of Bumble. I believe my last few rambling sentences hinted at the potentially titillating situation I found myself in when I discovered my first Bumble meet-up was as interested in men as he was the digital version of me and bragging about his geographical accomplishments.

Fast forward to our first in-person flirtation. At the risk of sounding shallow, I am about to explore a component of app dating that many women shy away from for the exact reason I just stated: we don’t want to seem like size-obsessed human beings with the depth of a kiddy pool. But, let’s face it, height matters – at least to some extent. Not only to most ladies, but also (and actually seemingly much more) to our male counterparts.

How the pressure to measure up to your dating profile affects your interactions

When it comes to app dating, height is a contentious issue. Not only has my anecdotal evidence proved this, but a statistical analysis of the app clearly shows height is one of the most commonly displayed attributes on fellas’ profiles. This shows it’s not only women who are wondering about whether we will need to ditch the heels to greet the likes of Lord Farquaad for a post-workday drink.

I am average height – about 5’4 – so I don’t typically have any trouble meeting men taller than me. Plus, I usually prioritize brains over brawn, so whether they can reach the mug on the top shelf is not a top concern. However, when the sometimes-romps-with-men-Romeo showed up for our first date, I quickly realized he had embellished his stature on his Bumble profile: the very first thing that matched were our eyes and this is because he was the same height as me.

The more I took note of the “exaggerated” nature of his profile, the faster the filaments dimmed, and his prospects shrunk. While, romantically this wasn’t ideal, it did remove any sense of fear I had about not measuring up to my digital presence. I had nothing to worry about now because there was nothing to lose and the bar was set very low (yes, sorry, that’s a tasteless play on words – I couldn’t help myself).

Unfortunately, his height was, by far, not his greatest shortcoming.

I love language! I like to paint vibrant images with what I say and am passionate about a wide variety of topics. So, when I am sitting across from a human being who has very little to contribute linguistically (intellectually, comparatively), I cannot help but feel my eyes narrowing into bored slits and my brain…shutting…down…or, at the very least, flitting from one internal critical commentary to the next.

Does his voice really sound like a contaminated version of Mickey Mouse? Is his tongue doing something dog-like between his robust canines? What is going on with that upper lip – is it unintentionally curling in accordance with the exertion of brain power he requires to formulate these lacklustre sentences?

Oh lawd, I am terrible. While I felt guilty in the moment, I feel even worse now that I am revealing my salacious subconscious to you.

Luckily, there was one saving grace from this less-than-glorious interaction, and they came in the form of two beautifully hazel-coloured eyes. My date’s greenish orbs acted as a means of distraction from the fact this man walked like Danny DeVito when he played Mr. Penguin in Batman Returns. And, it gave my mind a place to swim when what I really required was an intellectual buoy within this sea of vapid discourse.

But, a girl – especially one whose brain works – cannot live or love on eyes alone.

Time ticked on, and I began to look for the nearest cliff (I mean exit)

Yet, despite my raised eyebrows and rolling eyes, I did not jump. Even though I was completely disenchanted with this rather dismal date, I actually decided to walk the Green Mile to my apartment with my Bumble-verified wide-gaited gentleman.

To say the lack of attraction between us also managed to meander into the bedroom would be a laughable understatement, but let’s save that sticky story for another day. If you don’t want to miss my next naughty narrative, be sure to follow Sticky, Sexy, Sad on Twitter and Instagram @stickysexysad.

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Dr. Treena Orchard

London, Ontario

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