Warning: some swear words appear in this story.

Well, this is awkward, I think to myself. I’ve spent the last half hour answering what felt like endless questions on the latest and greatest dating app. The ink is barely dry on my divorce papers, but I’m not getting any younger. That’s why I’m sitting her being grilled by an app.

What am I interested in?

What activities do I enjoy?

What was the last book I read?

What is my favorite color?

What is my least favorite color?

And so on and so forth. Then it moved on to deal breakers. Smoking is my biggest deal breaker. Well, I’ll take a smoker over an asshole any day. Been there, done that, never want to again. However, the algorithm didn’t ask me if I was an asshole, so I’m guessing it didn’t ask my prospective matches, either. Even if it did, would any of us admit to being an asshole? Most likely not.

And that brings me to my current awkward situation. After investing all this time and effort answering all these questions, I waited with baited breath to see my matches. The little clock turned. Does it take this long for everyone? I asked myself.

Finally my first match appeared. I was looking at the smiling face of my ex-husband. Apparently he wasn’t wasting any time getting back out there either. I toss my phone onto the couch beside me. They really need to figure out how to ask someone if they are an asshole.