Barry flags me down, shows me his phone. Fresh off his divorce, this guy. Says hey whaddaya think? Saucy little number he’s been talking to on the apps. First bite in days, says Barry. Her location’s on the reef – miles away – and I thinks to myself aw here we fuckin’ go.

Gotta thing for the red ones, he goes, gills like all-get-out.

I says to Barry you think you gotta shot with this girl? Another league entirely.

Barry says har har, fucker, like I haven’t heard that one. He says you think I should ask her out?

I go Bare I’m not kidding. You can’t get on her level. Lemme guess: no bites down here, set the search parameters a little higher, facetuned the fuck out of your selfies, Gotta stop doing that, man. Be real.

He goes you lay off about that shit. You don’t know. It’s hard out here.

Sure, man, I says, but you can’t go messing with that mug in the filters then bitch about how bummed they get when they see you. You gotta date at your depth. You’re a fuckin’ beaut, at your depth. But you start fucking around in shallow waters and no amount of Valencia whatever-the-fuck is gonna hide yer flab—

Barry winces. Stares at her ripply little gills on the screen.

Then what, I says. They see you all gassed out, leaking snot, eyes bulging. Not a good look. Down here you cut a good figure. Handsome, even. You drift into another league and you lose gas. Then what? You’re busting gut, some crestfallen Charlie with that hangdog mouth, with that nose.

Barry taps a message to the girl. Second message. Third. He gets a little smiley in return.

Don’t fuck around in the shallow, I says. The second you start pulling catfish shit, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.

Barry looks me dead in the eye and says fuck you, man.

Go home to the wife and tell her about Barry swiping outta his league and telling me to fuck off and you know what she says?

He’s right.

I says to her any reef-y little thing that swipes right on a blobfish is slumming and you know it. She’s doing it for kicks. Fucking with him.

She goes so what?

She’s scamming for pen pals, I says.

She goes what’s it to you?

I says he should be dating in his league. Those girls flirt with scuba divers and meathead triggerfish and shit-for-brains coralfish pretty boys all day. You really think they need to come all the way down here for a date? He can’t go to her. You know what happens when he goes up there.

She goes One day that girl is gonna get sick of pretty boys and meatheads. They go looking down here because they want a man with a bit of depth. A man who’s willing to rise to meet her.

You know what happens! I says. The gasses!

Don’t forget, asshole, she says. You were out of your league with me, too.