It was my last date. Enough already. I had been on match.com for roughly a year and was feeling a bit drained from it all, rather the way you feel at the end of a great party. When you arrive, you are the bell of the ball, with your new MAC Naked Lunch shadow smeared all over your eyes, and the new Chanel Brandywine lipstick covering your carefully outlined lips. By the end of the night, your new Steve Madden stilettos are killing you, your hair is making your eyes itch and your foundation has settled into each little nook and cranny on your face and even discovered a few more. Home please.Not that I'm complaining. I had met some very nice men, dated a few more than once, and had some rather odd experiences, which you will have to wait for the book to find out about, as my kids read this. I also had been stood up several times, stuck with more than one dinner bill and cringed at the thought that my ex and Giselle would walk in to a restaurant and see me dining with a 65 year old man the size of a four year old.