Liking the same breakfast cereal isn’t compatibility
Every now and then I see a profile on Tinder that perfectly matches mine.
It mirrors my likes and dislikes, and line for line appears to be directly responding to my own profile.
A smile will spread across my face and I will think to myself ” Did this fucker rewrite his profile to mirror mine, then superlike me?”
OK a bit arrogant, but come on. It’s too much coincidence. And I’m not the lucky kind.
A shared love of tequila and sarcasm? A dislike of drugged wildcats and sexually menacing texts? That’s not compatibility. That’s common sense. I don’t put any of my genuine interests on a Tinder profile.
I’m wary of anyone who I’ve got a lot in common with. In the age of all access information all it takes to find out what makes a person tick is a shrewd analysis of their social media.
Despite being a cynic, I am a romantic. Just not your garden variety. While other little girls dreamt of getting married, I was normally crawling around in dirt, pretending I was living in a post Apocalyptic society. Foraging for berries to survive on. Building a time machine out of twigs and paper.
My romance was never about that part of a fairy tale. I liked boys. They were fun and liked to do fun stuff. But I didn’t want to wear a bedsheet for one, not when I could be fighting a robot. I wanted the kinship. A friend. A partner in crime.
I grew up watching my parents disagree on everything, which had a profound impact on me. Their only common ground was a point of origin. They’d argue over something as arbitrary as a potato.
Getting along and common ground mattered to me. A bit too much perhaps.
After watching The Lobster, I got to thinking about all the whimsical common ground that I drew on to keep relationships going. Any eclectic similarity would do. He wears glasses. He does a good Terrence Stamp impression. He too knows the disappointment of never getting a Mr Frosty.
I would let that tiny bit of common ground be the focal point that I meditated towards through every argument, disagreement and stumbling block.
Until I fucking hated Terence Stamp and Mr Frosty.
Common ground is just a foot in the door. Maybe I’ll try the window this time.