“Oh no they didn’t,” Lola snaps a little too loudly.
“Oh yes they did.”
“How dare they?”
“I know, right?” I say back to Lola, unable to take my eyes off the interlopers. They’re probably having a bit of a rest after shopping for precious pastel macarons, organic persimmons, and chemical-free makeup at the boutique marketplace that used to be a corner liquor store and hooker hangout when I was a kid.
“Well, we actually need table space this morning anyway. Two, please,” Lola tells the hostess. I don’t say a thing; I’m too busy wondering if it will feel weird to drink champagne at a table.
Once we’re seated, Lola reaches into her hobo bag, pulls out her laptop, and scoots her bistro chair closer to mine. I pluck a feather out of a seam of her down jacket.
“I have a Christmas present for you,” she says tentatively.
“You givin’ me your laptop?”
“Girl, please. No. Your present is on my laptop.” Lola hugs the laptop to her chest as if she’s adding another protective layer between her and the cold.
“Oooh! You’re going to show me something online, so I can tell you if I want it or not?” I ask, slightly giddy with anticipation. It’s been a long time since someone has bought me a present.
“Something like that,” Lola says, putting down the laptop and opening Safari. “I signed you up for Bumble and I made you a profile page.”
“That definitely is not on my Christmas list.”
“I know, I know, but hear me out. One month is all I ask. Try it for one month, and if you don’t like it we close down the account. Thirty days is not going to kill you, and I’m paying for the first month anyway so, you know, Merry Christmas.” I can’t stand listening to Lola whine and beg at the same time. “I don’t suppose you got me anything?” Lola asks, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah, another year of friendship unless this online dating thing goes sideways. How does this even work? I’m not up for men judging me by a couple of pictures, which, by the way, I have yet to approve.”
Lola takes this as ayesand claps her hands with the enthusiasm of a little kid.
“This is Bumble and the best part is the women have all the power. Men can’t choose you, you choose them. How great is that! Let’s take your profile for a little spin.”
“Right now?!?!?”
“Yeah, right now, what else you gotta do? I know you can drink and type, I’ve seen you do it a thousand times.”
“Jeez, okay, but let me see my pictures first.” I have to give it to Lola: She has chosen four quality photos of me. One is a little misleading, I don’t usually parade around in head-to-toe motorcycle chic. That photo was from a fund-raiser at the Ritz-Carlton, Leather for School Lunches. I know these pictures are going to attract bees to this honey, but I just want to be sure I don’t get stung again. Other than that Lola did okay. Even her write-up is spot on, with a touch of exaggeration. I’m ready. “Okay, now what do we do?”
Lola looks at me funny. I think she was expecting more of a fight, not complete participation.
“Well, we actually search on your phone.” Lola grabs my phone and in a matter of thirty seconds the Bumble app is downloaded. “Next we start looking through the men. We swipe left to look at their pictures and read the profiles and right if we want to tell them we’re interested in a match. I mean, ifyou’reinterested in a match.”
“No, you were right the first time, this is definitely a WE project.”
“Are you ready to give it a try?”
“I’m a thirty-nine-year-old swiping virgin. Alright, let’s do this.”
Tavis
Restaurateur, 39
San Diego State, 2000
Swipe left.
Andre
BMX Racer, 36
