The man buffet. . .

Speed-dating. Over. Fun. Men were coming at me fast, like heat-seeking missiles out of the blood-red sky (think U2 song.) Eighteen in all. Thirty six eyes looking me up and down. Well, except for Jerry who couldn't look anywhere but above my left shoulder. What was that about? The room was romantically darkened. The women were told to take our places and get comfortable because our dates would come to us. We had four minutes. Four minutes to make a great first impression. Four minutes to meet the next relationship partner, or maybe, just maybe, The One (as in, The Last Freakin' One For A Long Long Time.) Well, we got to work. Busy beavers we were, let me tell you! I felt like I was on an episode of the old Dating Game. What do you like to do on Sunday morning? Where was the last stamp on your passport from? Oh, tell me more! Are you a good cook; what's your signature dish? Do you ride a bike? What is a great first date? What's your idea of fun on a Friday night? (see next post for the real questions I'd love to ask!). The list went on. Honestly, the men were awfully talkative and with most I was barely able to get two questions asked before. . . H O N K! That meant it was time to move him out and bring on the new one in waiting. The adventure went on for a little over an hour. The bartender made a mighty fine mojito, my favorite libation. Unfortunately, by the end of the Race to Find Love, the best thing that came into my life that evening was that mojito. I struck out. I didn't find Him. Hell, I didn't even find Almost Him. But, I have not lost faith in the idea of speed dating. And I will try again in December when it rolls into my town again.