They say your twenties is the best time of your life. It’s that newfound sense of adulthood that most people describe as a time of new experiences. It’s full of stupid decisions that will make it into your blooper reel of ridiculous stories you tell your grandkids at the holidays. They say that you’ll cherish your twenties and look back at that ten-year span as the good old days. I’m not quite sure who “they” are, but from my experience, they’re wrong.

My twenties, as short lived as they are at this point in time, have been the worst. Often, I sit back and reflect on my decisions and life experiences and realize that I have none. I feel like most women have this mental checklist they refer to every now again. It’s that list of dare I say, accomplishments or little milestones they should have reached by now. I scroll down my mental list and find that not one checkmark graces the page. I haven’t written that bestseller yet. I most certainly haven’t traveled at all really, especially outside of the country. And, I definitely haven’t found love yet. Now, I know I’m only twenty-one and still in college, but when everyone around you is checking milestones off their lists faster than you can run a mile on a good day, you really feel left behind.

It’s the “left behind” part that really gets me. I know I’ll reach my milestones when the time permits, but something happened to me recently that really threw me for a loop. It has to do with my love life, or lack thereof. Because I am so busy, it’s hard to meet people. I’m constantly on the move: working, studying, going to class, seeing my friends briefly in-between everything else. Therefore, I don’t have time to date, necessarily. So, for kicks one night, I downloaded Tinder. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Why? Why would she do this to herself? I couldn’t even explain why. I’m not even actively searching for anything; I was just curious. I look at it more as a social experiment because men speak a completely different language than women, and most times, they’re wrong. Some are crude and throw out ridiculous one-liners and pick-up lines like they actually think these comments will score them points. Others spill too much information too soon or choose Myspace quality photos to display their seemingly below-average looks. In other words, it’s disappointing, and I had very low expectations from the beginning.

But then one day, I matched with someone who seemed relatively normal. We had a few things in common and conversation was easy enough. However, he wasn’t assertive – which should have been a sign – so I made the first move and asked him to get coffee. Mind you, this was a week before the scheduled plans. Everything seemed normal; we talked a little more, and then radio silence. I hadn’t heard from him in days and on the day of the coffee date, I realized that he had ghosted me. I honestly had never heard the term before this experience and couldn’t believe that someone could be so disrespectful. I am not the type of woman to mess with. Remember, I have the power of words on my side. Now, I would never reveal names, but he knows who he is, and so do all my girlfriends.

The point here is that if you really aren’t interested in someone, tell them. Ghosting an individual and just vanishing without any explanation is one of the worst things that you could possibly do to a person. The worst part of this particular situation is that we attend the same school, and before this, I had never seen him on campus. But now, I happen to run into him often, which is just my luck. My method of coping with inconsiderate schmucks is to look like a ten on the daily to make him see what he’s missing.

Ladies, be careful. Men are dumb; they speak a language that makes no sense and we are the ones left pondering where we went wrong, when in reality, they were the culprits from the beginning. I may not have a love life, but at least I have interesting stories to splatter with just enough sarcastic flare to make a delightful blog post. And true to my nature, coffee is here to heal the nonexistent wounds left behind by the schmuck who shall not be named.