"I'm looking for my Chris Hemsworth." That's how I convinced my brother and his three friends, all in their mid-20s, to help me find a gentleman suitor on the dating app Bumble. I think they agreed just to have an excuse to talk shit about other dudes, but so be it, because it happened.
My brother (who has chosen to be known as Brother in text, but has a name that starts with A) and his crew (one of whom doesn't want his name publicized because he's a baby) consented to feed me lines to send to guys on Bumble. I even let them pick which ones I would grace with
my their words.
The way Bumble works is that the lady has to start the conversation, and she has 24 hours to do so. Otherwise, the match disappears. The guy, meanwhile, gets 24 hours to decided if he wants to respond to the woman.
While my response rate in the past has been metza metz, once I enlisted back-up, I was soon drowning in conversations. Turns out guys love talking to guys.
I began with letting them choose from suggested openers, because I had little faith in them at first.
I certainly had good reason to be wary of this project.
In the end, the young men agreed to go with "What's your squat at?"
I asked my matches this question.
These poor random dudes loved it, and most of them eagerly responded.
Guys love discussing their physical feats. No shocker there.
Guys love talking about their athleticism because they have major egos. Which explains the responses I got from my crew.
Which led to conversations such as these:
At this point, the guys were crafting every word I said.
They, of course, had no say in what my matches were writing, which, as luck would have it, turned out to be great.
Poor Brandon. He was trolled.
The consensus was split on Brandon, so the group moved forward.
At times it was hard to keep the guys focused.
But overall they offered some good advice.
They had some differences in opinion when it came to how exactly one should go about getting a date. Phelan was on the side of asking people out ASAP, which actually didn't work so great.
Yeah, we haven't talked since. Good luck with lax, brah!
When Brother voiced dislike for one of the guys, his opinion was summarily shut down.
In the end, the guys combined their wits to get me a date, and they were pretty happy about it.
Then they drowned me in advice on how to respond to the simple question of what I was up to later.
If you are at all curious (hey mom), Brother and his friends had a great convo with this guy, whom we'll call Steakman. Steakman soon asked me out. We hung out, but not before I knew a bit more about him—thanks to Brother.
Upon learning who he was chatting with on Bumble, Steakman strongly requested to not be a part of this story. Steakman is also no longer a part of my life story.
Addendum: the tribe has spoken and decided that since Steakman doesn't think Idris Elba is James Bond material, my promise to not post our Bumble conversation is null and void. So here it is:
While Steakman was still in the picture and we moved from Bumble to real life, my dating elves couldn't accept their lack of involvement in my dates.
Yeah, they were too invested. This whole thing was weird.