My eyes were swollen. My stomach felt sour. But, overall, I felt OK. I got more than eight hours of sleep, which isn't something most people can say the night before they get married. I sat on the bed watching "Keeping Up with the Kardashians" with an eye mask on, in hopes my dark circles would cease to exist. It was the Christmas card episode. Realizing it was almost noon, I hopped in the shower, shaved my legs, and had my future sister-in-law glue fake eyelashes on me.
My best friend, Eva, helped me mangle the boob tape into submission for about 30 minutes so I could shimmy into my pale pink, silk Reformation dress. Then, my husband-to-be Julian walked in, freshly barbered, cowboy-boot clad. We called a Lyft at pm. And as the driver looked back to say goodbye to us at our destination, his gaze turned perplexed.
We understood why. People don't tell you that a courthouse wedding doesn't take long. I think ours clocked in at about seven minutes. People also don't tell you that a date on Tinder could possibly turn into a marriage. Mine did. Though at first, it did seem improbable. Trust me, I wasn't a fan of dating apps when I was on them β the flakiness and phoniness, the vulnerability and unpredictability. And despite slogans like "Designed to be deleted," it's more likely you will delete the app out of utter frustration than actually find someone with it.
Outside of the hookup-culture fog, I can understand why some people are skeptical. I once was, too. But I am here to tell you this: You may be looking at it all wrong. Online dating is not some fringe concept like it was in the late '90s and early aughts. It's not just for young people. And it is not just for the romantically helpless and "desperate.
She's embarrassed by it, and instead tells a fake story about how their "hands touched" in a cooking class, even though Ted assures her "there's no stigma anymore.
