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Grrr, but the fakes, the nasties! Catfishers, ugh—profile’s a dream, face-to-face a nightmare! One gal, swore she’s 25, showed up lookin’ 50! “Time’s a thief,” I hissed—should’ve run, but me soft side stayed. Waste of me night! And the apps, precious—swipe, swipe, swipe—like tryna find the One Ring in a haystack! Gets me blood boilin’, it does.

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Finally, I find my way back. Sam’s waiting, laughing at me. I’m like, “Shut up, bro! You try navigating this maze!” We decide to grab some fish and chips at the waterfront. Classic Porirua move, right? The fish is fresh, and I’m feeling good again. But then, I drop my chips. Like, seriously? I’m cursing like a sailor. Sam’s cracking up, and I’m just there, staring at my fallen chips like they’re my lost dreams.

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