I registered my profile, and the next hurdle is finding a photo to attract the kind I am hunting. I have not taken a photograph of myself in ages, so nothing in my gallery matches my current physical state. I turned on the night lamp. I have a stubborn set of curls, so I wet my hair before finger combing it. I do not have the enthusiasm for a face beat, so I made do with powder, pink gloss, and blush to my cheekbones. After many attempts at taking a self-portrait, I got one decent enough, so I updated it and wrote that I am looking for good friends nearby. The app suggested a few matches for me and asked if I would like to send them the first message. I do not have the patience to check them all out, so I deselected the ugly and old-looking men and tapped the yes button. So, what if I am a little vain or meticulous? I said I craved company. That did not mean I frowned on quality. The app spewed an automated message to the chosen ones on my behalf.

Debby: Hey, I am available. Do you want to chat?

Several replies flushed in within seconds, and some of them are already sending me their naked photos or asking me to send pictures of my sexy breasts to them. I quickly learned I am on the wrong site because it looks like a community for people seeking casual encounters only.

Yikes, the world is growing too fast for you, Debby. It is time to log off this miserable app and call it a night.

My notification light blinked, and I paused as a new message popped up on the screen.

Samuel: Hello pretty, of course, we can chat.

Looking at the profile, it feels dishonest because it is the photo of a handsome boy who looks like a professional model that just walked off the cover page of the September issue of Vogue Europa. He has a beautiful mane of red curls falling over his shoulders with steel-grey eyes under full brows. His orange freckles spread across his pointed nose, and his diamond and angular, sharp jawline framed his pink cherry full lips.

Come on, what would a guy who looks like that be doing on this thirsty app?

There was only that photo on the profile. It had all the qualifications of a catfish. It is insulting to me that this man thinks I will fall for catfishing 101. Unfortunately for him, I have time today. I must let him know exactly how I feel.

Debby: Hi faketard, how long will you steal identities to deceive innocent people seeking genuine connection? I do not understand why you hide behind a fake identity but love yourself more and desist from deceit. Thank you.

Yes, that is how you change the world, one catfish at a time.

A reply came faster than a boomerang. And you cannot believe what the idiot sent to me. I read the message with darts of fury shooting from my eyes.

Samuel: The one catfishing anyone right now is you pretending you are looking for just friends when all you want is a good fuck. But you are probably too self-righteous to admit it. You matched with me because you are thirsty for me. Please take your advice and be more confident. Stop pretending to be holy, and I might give you what you want.

What an ungrateful jerk. And a rude one at that. Is this my thank you for my friendly advice to this ass wipe? He is a pompous and rude bastard. I am about to teach him a lesson he will never forget.

Sure, I have not had sex in 15 months, but it does not mean I went online to look for sex. I am a hopeless romantic who has not been lucky with love. I can only have sex with someone I am in love with so, casual encounters are not my thing. Neither am I delusional enough to think that someone would want a single mom with a baby. But this bastard is insinuating I am sex starved and am looking for sex.

Come on, Debby. We will not let him get away with that, are we? Show him why they call you Ginger. Give him the touch of cinnamon. Let him burn!

Oh, you will cry like a bitch after I light your damn ass on fire.

I am not one to back away from a fight, so I fired back.

Debby: I am confident, and I love myself, unlike you. I am just looking for real friends. It turns out only sex-starved retards exist on this app. You know I can have your profile reported for creating a fake account, right? Show your actual face first. Only then can you talk to me about confidence. I bet you are one fat loser in pyjamas who is sitting in a basement, eating leftover pizza of five days from one hand while scratching his hairy, smelly, fishy ass with the other.

I dropped my phone after a job well done and checked on my baby.

The notification light on my phone grabbed my attention, and my brows skewed as I read his reply.

Samuel: You are a fiery one, and I do like em feisty. Let us skip the drama and go straight to the sheets?

Eeew.

Do not indulge him anymore, Debby. Just delete your profile and go back to sending yourself sexts, please. Do not start typing. Debby, do not do it.

Debby: You are right. I am fiery, and my burn does sting like a bitch. You better stay away from me before I fry you for dinner. Punk ass bitch.

Atta girl.

It occurred to me to report the profile. But for once, I am having a conversation with someone other than my baby, ogre, and donkey.

Samuel: You are one desirable piece of ass. Calm your tits, baby. I am as genuine as your temper issues.

What a vulgar bastard!

Debby: First off, I am not your baby. Second, refer to me as a piece of ass again, and ama slap your goddamn mouth. Third, next time you want to use a stolen identity, use a less good-looking one because no man who looks like that will be online oozing your type of stinking sex appeal.

Samuel: First, I am flattered you find me unrealistically good-looking; it means you want me. If you want me to smack your sexy ass, then I am all in, baby. What should I do to prove to you I am real?

Debby: We can do a video chat.

Girl, you sound desperate to video chat with a catfish. Is the bar that fucking low now?

Samuel: That eager to see me?

This guy is impossible.

Debby: Do not flatter yourself. I want to prove I am right about you. And do not come with the bullshit excuse of a broken phone camera or some other cat fishy shit. I watch the show catfish like a bible. I am unto you.

Samuel: How about I swing by your place after work.

Debby: Oh, hell to the no. You could be a creep or a serial killer.

Samuel: Give me your digits. I want to call you.

Debby: Why?

Samuel: let’s start by hearing each other’s voices if we are going to be friends.

Debby: My instincts tell me that is a bad idea.

Samuel: Roll the dice and try me. It will either be the best thing that has ever happened to you or the worst. Either way, you must play to find out, and I think two can play this game.

I thought about the repercussions of what I’m about to do. But the anticipation of hearing this stranger’s voice is compelling.