Ah, the digital age. These days, it seems like every second person has met their partner online. Tinder. Plenty of Fish. eHarmony. Whatever floats your boat.

I had always refused to jump on the digital dating bandwagon. While I was eternally single, I believed in real life romance; in ‘what’s meant to be’. I believed that I would bump into The One at a party or a pub, at the gym or the grocers. Not Tinder.

But, after moving to a small town, being cat-called in the street and propositioned at the pub, I decided it was time to take hold of my destiny. My real life love story did not exist. It was time to investigate other avenues. So I installed Tinder.

At first, I was honestly just looking; lamenting the quantity and quality of the single men in my area. Until one popped up that wasn’t like the others.

He didn’t have any dead pigs. He didn’t have an Akubra hat. He didn’t even have a small-town country job. He was different. WHAT ON EARTH WAS HE DOING ON TINDER?

“I’m A Man, Let Me Into The Ladies Lounge”

Like any woman, I flicked through his män som bara är Somalian kvinnor photos, read far too into his bio and hunted him down on Facebook. I stalked him, his siblings, his parents, his colleagues, his friends and his friends’ girlfriends’ neighbours’ brother. I scrolled through every photo and every Happy Birthday post since he was born. As far as I could see, he had no wife, children, girlfriend or boyfriend. I decided he was worthy. I swiped right.

We were blissfully happy. We passed our time reading in a hammock, making delicious home-cooked meals together, exploring waterfalls and watching Netflix in bed (seriously). We hadn’t been dating long when, in a moment of nostalgia, I re-opened my Tinder for the first time since we had upgraded to Facebook and text messaging. I had no interest in anyone else that popped up on screen; in fact, I had turned my discovery off entirely.

I realised he’d deleted his Tinder and I felt immediate guilt – and relief. Clearly he liked me. And I definitely liked him. There was only one thing left to do. Delete Tinder and forget it ever happened. I never even mentioned the whole ordeal to him. I was feeling too gosh-darn smug.

A couple of weeks later, we had been looking up holiday destinations and watching Netflix in bed before he went to work. He kissed me goodbye and left me for a lazy Sunday sleep-in. I awoke from my dreams of Thai massages and Singapore noodles and thought I’d continue our search for flights on his tablet. I had no idea how to drive the android-Samsung-tablet-thing, but the logical place to start looking was ‘Internet’, obviously.

I very quickly realised ‘Internet’ was not where we had previously been searching up cheap international flights or the cricket score.

I had no idea what it was, but from the looks of things, he was not doing one of those Cosmo quizzes to see if he’d found The One. No, this was much…kinkier.

Your Questions Answered

Of course, I broke into an anxious, guilty sweat, exited the ‘Internet’, fumbled around trying to work out how to close the app and considered ‘accidentally’ dropping it in a bucket of water to destroy the evidence.

I got out of bed in a confused daze. I went in search for my own computer and started to Google. What I found online about Adult Match Maker made my stomach churn – and not because I hadn’t eaten breakfast.

Why was he on there? Was he still using it? Did I care? Should I ask him about it? Will he think I was snooping? Was this a deal-breaker?

I was terrified he’d see the ‘Internet’ open next time he was on his tablet and put two-and-two together. I was terrified for what I might learn if I asked him about it. But more than anything, I was terrified that I wasn’t enough for him.

We spent two weeks apart, travelling for work and family commitments. I stewed for two whole weeks about what to do. I had ruled out confronting him in a text, and couldn’t bring myself to say anything when we had spoke on the phone. I had decided it was a delicate issue, much better approached in person. But by the time we saw each other again, everything was so perfect between us, I decided it no longer mattered.

A month later, I found out that not only did he have an Adult Match Maker account, but that he was still well-and-truly active on Tinder. He hadn’t deleted it at all; he’d just deleted me. Slime bag.

He broke up with me that week. Before I even had a chance to confront him or do it myself. But the accounts were still playing on my mind.

When I stepped back, I realised the whole situation was messed up. I was in a loving and committed relationship with someone who had Adult Match Maker AND Tinder profiles. I had invested time, love and energy on someone who clearly didn’t think I was enough.

So I told him. I came out with it. I haven’t heard from him since, but man, oh man, it felt good to get it off my chest. The weight of knowledge was lifted. It was such a relief.

But – it just goes to show – in the age of digital dating, we have to be more careful than ever. There is more opportunity, more temptation, more secrecy than ever before. It’s hard to trust anyone, even if you’re in a relationship, even if you’re planning expensive holidays, even if you think he’s The One.

Because even seemingly COMPLETE GEMS can have their flaws – and having online dating profiles while you’re in a relationship is definitely one of those flaws.