While sitting at brunch last weekend with four of my closest girlfriends, after exhausting topics of conversation ranging from which parts of our body we'd had laser hair removal on -- and which ones we still wanted to -- to all manner of family drama and new job prospects, talk of course turned to dating.
It turned out that my Spanish-speaking self was more seemingly diffident. In Spanish, I did not have the ability to pluck the perfect word out of the great web of semantics, and, therefore, I seemed less assertive when I spoke. In English, on the other hand, I was a feminist, a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, and knew how to communicate that with precision. It was depressing that men who knew this side of me didn't seem to like it.
I think I genuinely lasted an entire week without logging on to any of the sites. But one night, I'd had a crappy day at work and couldn't sleep. I lay in bed, thoughts racing through my head. Just a little Tinder wouldn't hurt. My phone beckoned -- no implored -- me to pick it up and swipe. So I did.