In the end, it seemed to come down to never dating again or taking the chance of being blotted. Years passed and nothing did happen, and I realized that without my intervention, my hand pushing the warm back of fate, it was possible nothing ever would. After my last breakup, I spent a while “letting something happen,” which meant doing nothing. But what choice did I have? Apps seemed to be the way everyone found each other these days. To further complicate matters, it was estimated that fifty per cent of men on dating apps in the city were now blots. I’d never liked the idea of finding a romantic partner on an app, the way you’d order pizza or an Uber. I resolved to pass judgment on several hundred men per day, and to make an effort to message the few I matched with. On my return to San Francisco from a bleak Thanksgiving with my surviving relatives in Illinois, I downloaded Tinder, Bumble, and a few other apps I’d seen Instagram ads for.
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