Dating App Exit Strategy Session with Self
Yesterday, on my way home, I decided I’m done with dating apps.
It’s not worth it.
Those men aren’t available—and if they are, they’re just boring.
Like watching a serial killer murder someone for the fifteenth time.
I’m over it. All the passion and intrigue are gone.
There’s nothing they can do to surprise me.
My new plan? Find community stuff and actually show up.
Make friends. See what happens.
I’ve got a bunch of meetups saved. I probably won’t go.
But they’re on my radar, which counts for something.
Every few weeks, I tell myself, Sam, you need to get out.
I RSVP to several events. Add them to my calendar.
Get the reminder the day before.
Try to psych myself up.
Then, on the day of?
Nowhere do I go. I tell myself, Next time.
When I finally get a date, I imagine it going something like this:
We’re sitting in a two-seater booth,
staring into each other’s eyes,
holding hands.
“So, Sam,” he says, “I’m really enjoying your company. Care for a nightcap?”
“Yes, of course.”
And I could’ve stopped there. But I didn’t.
“Remember how I told you my apartment kind of sucks?
Sometimes I turn on the tap and there’s only cold water.
Sometimes, no water at all.
What I’m trying to say is—yes, I’d love to have sex with you,
but I need to shower first.”
He lets go of my hands.
“Do you not shower every day?”
“Yes. I don’t shower every day, but only because the water’s not always on.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want to shower. I just can’t.”
“Are these water issues… normal?”
“Well,” I say, “before I answer, could you define what normal means?”
He quickly asks for the check; pays his portion. Then we go our separate ways.
Next thing I know, I see him again at whatever event we met at.
He’s telling people I don’t shower with no context.
so everyone thinks I’m gross.
Now nobody wants to talk to me.
Word spreads.
Every meetup, every circle—there goes smelly sam.
I can’t escape it.
So I stop going out.
Then I stop showering for real because now I’m super depressed.
Eventually, I die. (Maybe in a casino.)
And when my kids try to get my body collected,
No one wants to pick me up cause I smell worse than the decomp they’re used to dealing with.
Which is fine. Whatever. I don’t care.
Aside from the thought of being single forever and funeral homes refusing to take me because I smell really bad— life is good. And the whole meetup idea might be off the table. Cause I don't want nobody calling me smelly sam.
Rather than my usual prose, paragraph shit. I'm trying to write in short, snappy lines for easier readability. Can you believe we're almost half way through the year already. May 7 was my seven year work anni That's about 80% longer than my longest relationship? So yeah—I can commit. Just not to men. I hope all is well with you and yours. I'm off to party with my wild things. But I'll probably end up watching TV and falling asleep.
Fri May 9
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