This, sweet lovelies, is my Tinder profile. Except I don't have Tinder anymore. My Tinder days are gorgeously behind me. I deleted Tinder a while back because I'm crushing hard on someone and I just don't feel the need to be pressed with the headache anymore. I wanted to make space for new things.

Except it wasn't gone. No, not at all. My overly Instagram-filtered, stupid, trying-too-hard, thirsty, embarrassing little profile has been recklessly floating around the Tindersphere, without my knowledge (or permission).

"FYI: you're still on Tinder," a girl messaged me this morning.

"Nah, I'm not," I quickly replied, as I furiously banged my fingers on my laptop keyboard, feverishly combing the internet for some article inspiration.

She replied with a screenshot of my Tinder profile. There is no arguing with photographic evidence (girl I've tried, but learned it's a fruitless effort).

I turned to my editor. "I'm still on Tinder and I deleted it!" I cried, feeling slightly violated by the wicked forces of Tinder.

"Oh, you need to disable it from Facebook first," she dutifully informed me staring straight into her static laptop screen. Her icy removedness made me trust her judgement. It took me about 10 minutes of playing around on Facebook settings before I figured out how to remove the app from my settings.

"Well NOW, I'm really off it. I guess it's not enough to just delete the app," I smugly typed away, as if I was now the official authority on the inner workings of Tinder. A few minutes passed.

"Nope. You're still on."

"WHAAAT?" I typed back. Now I was really, really steaming. I had already deleted the invasive app from my stupid smartphone, then I had gone to the trouble to disable it from my Facebook and there I was. My pointy face still making the rounds in the incestuous lesbian Tinder world.

I turned back to my coworker and sneered, "I'm STILL on."

She looked at me with large, pressing eyes and gasped. "That means I'm still on. I've probably been on for years!" Her pretty face was flooded with fear and panic.

After a little bit of investigation we discovered she had been alive and well on Tinder since the summer of 2014, when she thought she had deleted the app. Meanwhile she's practically engaged to a dude she's madly in love with.

So kittens, here is my official public service announcement: If you think you've deleted your Tinder, think again. It's not like other apps. You can't just press that little "x" at the top of the app and assume you're in the clear. You can't just disable it on your Facebook settings. It's not enough. I had to Wiki how how it to figure it out.

To delete my Tinder, I had to start at square one. I had to go back through the trauma of re-downloading Tinder, signing in, logging in with Facebook and getting back in business. As I attempted to delete it for real, I took a brief pitstop in Tinder land. I took a look at my matches and BAM.

Girl, I had matched in the past few months. And all these girls probably thought I was one of those cold bitches who just gets drunk, swipes right and rudely ignores her matches. That, or they think I'm one of those even colder bitches who uses Tinder as self-promotion (it was connected to my Instagram, too).

Feelings of acute guilt penetrated my body. But of course the guilt subsided, and I got back to work. I went into my Tinder settings and officially had to not just delete the app, but delete my account. A little "Are you sure?" message came flying onto the screen, attempting to taunt me. What a sick, corrupt demon Tinder is, I thought to myself. OF COURSE I'M SURE. I've been sure for months.

I clicked "confirm" and BAM. My Tinder was gone.

Dissipated into the air, like it never even happened. Years worth of flirting history instantly erased. I wonder where old Tinder profiles go after they die?

So FYI: If you have sentimental shit on your Tinder, like a flirty convo with your new flame that you want to preserve, it will be forever gone once you delete the app. Screenshot your sentiments first.

PSA: If you think your Tinder is deleted, double-check. I wonder how many breakups have happened because someone thought the other person was being shady and lying about their Tinder? Who knows? Who cares? I guess I do because I just wrote about it, had a mild panic over it and spent my half my day dealing with it, huh?