Sex sells

A come-hither, low-cut top; a well positioned elbow as a substitution for clothing; or just a good old boobs-to-feet-sun-lounger-bikini-selfie; nothing screams ‘I have sex on the first date’ more than the presence of any of these. After all, this is what tinder is all about right? The truly scary thing is how effective these weapons are, even against the (self-labeled) classy gentleman. In the face of such hardwired, primitive arousal, the male suffers from a temporary disability to assess the quality of the potential match from any of their usual criteria. In our weak little minds, swiping left is tantamount to passing up on the possibility (or should I say certainty) of sex. Obviously in the sobering event of a match we see it for what it really is, getting the added psychological benefit of feeling like we have dodged a venereal disease. In some circumstances however, that momentary blip in impartiality can have devastating consequences. You know what I am talking about.