Series: Love Me, Tinder…Yes, Chef

“Yes, Chef”

Okay, I will admit it.

I met my current husband on Tinder.

It’s not something a lot of people will own up to, that is, being a Tinder user in general, much less marrying a fellow supposed sex-addict.

Am I a sex addict? Was I? Was he?

Is everyone on Tinder an addict?

Maybe.

For me, I just wanted something I could control, and Tinder was a game I could play and win. Sex was the way to keep score, moreso than some lustful desire I had. I was angry. But also mad, as a Brit would say, not as an American would say. A controlled crazy that no one knew but me. She’s a mad one, that girl, I heard in my head, in my own trifled London accent. Proper mad.

When I first signed up for Tinder, I was married still, on paper, to a man I hadn’t loved in years. A man I had been desperately faithful to, a man who made me a wife and a mother and a lonely shell of a creature. He was a drunk, which I knew, and a cheater, which I did not. He fucked her on my camel colored leather sofa, on the 800 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets I had earned with my own money. He told her he loved her, while I built my business and sacrificed my time and energy. For well over a year, I did not know.