There are coping mechanisms you invariably adopt during a dry spell. You rationalize it: Has it really been that long? Have there really been any eligible candidates? You download Tinder, delete Tinder, redownload Tinder, change your settings, swipe through and realize that your hometown Tinder is not what you had remembered it to be when you were swiping through the slim pickings of Ithaca Tinder. When an interaction with a member of the preferred sex doesn’t end in the wondrous, distant land of Hookup, you wonder, like Cher from Clueless when she was rejected by, as it turns out, a gay man did my hair get flat?