"Book Club" or "On checking Grindr in the convent bathroom"

A few months ago, at a repast, a friend of my ex's talked me into her little book club.
She's a social sort, a genteel southern lady.

The books sounded interesting, and I'm always seeking to meet new people, trying to be less of a homebody.
Can't say I don't try.
And she does know a lot of people.

Oh, and there was that time or two she'd shown up with one of her friends, you know, the young gentleman below.

 I mean, I might have remembered that too, I'm not sure.

Alas, nothing like that showed up at the convent for the book club.
Nope.
Not at all.

Just a gathering of older, erudite ladies....and me.
We met at a convent.
Because, of course we did. Where else would we meet?

After a bit of conversation and snacks, the ladies and I dispersed.

Before leaving, I availed myself of the bathroom, washed my hands and absent mindedly checked Grindr before leaving.
I mean it can't hurt to check, right?
Nada.
(for which I was both disappointed and relieved)