I found my soul mate on tinder! At least, he looked nice and said things like “If monkeys could have voice boxes fitted, would they be humans?” Which is exactly the sort of crazy thing I would think. So I shared my theory of the earth being a tiny cell in the body of an enormous giant and, unlike with other Tinder potentials I have shared this theory with, it wasn’t ridiculed. Therefore we were meant to be together, and as such, there later came a point when it seemed safe and appropriate to share the monkey flange story.
I don’t often tell the monkey flange story, because it was a dark, dark day in my life. To be honest, it’s risky sharing it here because I am known for being a professional, discrete individual. This incident shouldn’t change your opinion of me as it was in fact an isolated incident. The point being “We all have a past.”
In Mexico, a few years ago, I visited a monkey sanctuary. I was wearing shorts as it was very hot. A lady monkey sat on my lap and let’s just say, the old girl had clearly been around the block a bit in her day. Flopping over my thigh were some very sagging “lady parts” and I’m not going to lie, I felt a bit ill.
As soon as possible I showered and scrubbed that thigh because I was so worried that there would be lady monkey flange smells left on me, that I might attract a large, aggressive male monkey to me.
So it was risky sharing this story with my Tinder potential, just as it is with you, because people are going to form opinions about me, and critically the monkey, who isn’t able to defend herself.
But I told him anyway, and the next morning there were some garbled drunken messages from him telling me I was beautiful (actually only one said that, let’s not exaggerate), and that the monkey flange story was very funny. There were some other bits too, mainly warning of the dangers of texting when drunk, reputation damage etc, but on the whole, it seemed very positive.
I replied briefly, explaining I had to go to work and would respond properly the next day as I was going out after work. I reciprocated the compliment, said I like the word “unreslectableness” (which is a drunken made-up word which I think was meant to be the opposite of respectable. This however was said in relation to drunk texting, rather than about the monkey flange). I rounded off by saying “I hope the hangover isn’t too bad” with an upside down smiley face and in a completely out of character way, added a “x.”
I’d like to just explain my decision to add a “x.” It was the first time I had, and like me it wasn’t his thing to do that. My theory is you should only add a “x” at the end of your sentence if you genuinely would kiss them in real life after saying what you’d just said, if you’d said it to their face.
If it were in real life, I wouldn’t have kissed him on the mouth as he would have smelled of alcohol from the night before. Possibly of vomit – who knows? It would have been a kiss on the *forehead* and I’d have left a pint of water on the bedside table with a packet of Neurofen. (This is happening in an entirely made up world in my head because of course I haven’t actually met said Tinder man in real life ever).
I re-read what I had written, knowing I have a tendency to make disgusting autocorrect errors. Not just mild ones, down right dirty ones sometimes. For example, I once wrote and email to a customer called Ansul and didn’t check the autocorrect which had changed the name to Anus. More recently I emailed someone one of my major websites that ends in .org and in some Freudian slip wrote .orgy instead. Let’s not also forget the classic mistake that time when a coaching client (on instant message) told me he had plenty of options but never seemed to pick the right door. To which I responded “What prevents you from walking through the doors of possibility?” and didn’t realise I’d switched the “l” in “walking” for an “n.”
I was happy with my message. If there was a colossal error, I missed it. I hit send.
Later that evening I briefly checked to see if there was any response yet.
Because he had gone. He had blocked me.
All the feelings I’d had at the original monkey flange event came flooding back, and I was left staring at a list of names, of which his no longer featured.
And I felt quite sad, not just because I thought I’d found someone who seemed to be on my wavelength, who I now knew, I would never get to know any better; but also because I can’t shake away an image I have in my mind, of a monkey in Mexico, sat on a beach with a piña colada, holding an iPhone displaying a made-up Tinder profile. An evil, twisted monkey who is out for revenge against all humans who ever passed negative comment about her lady parts.
I did think maybe he had deleted me by accident, and would have enough detail about me to find me by searching online and would then email me. Though having checked my emails I only have a spam message about erection meds and a YouTube notification to say R Kelly has subscribed to my channel.
Something tells me it isn’t the real R Kelly.
Even so, I’d like to dedicate this song to the Mexican monkey:
Bump n Grind
By R Kelly
My mind’s telling me no
But my body, my body’s telling me yes
Baby, I don’t want to hurt nobody
But there is something that I must confess to you
I don’t see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind…
(R.Kelly, 1993, Bump n Grind).
By Gemma Bailey