Seven days of yes: It takes two

Inspired by Maria Headley's The Year of Yes, where the author accepts every date for a full year, I'm experimenting with my own shorter version: a week of yes. I've put away my quick and customary "no" and have whipped out the affirmative, hoping to have at least a fraction of Headley's success (after 365 days of yes, she found true love).

The first order of business: getting as asked out. Many Southwest Floridians - m men and women alike - complain that it's to tough to meet people in this area. Even wa with a cache of yeses, I wasn't guaranteed a date. So, I did what any self-respecting girl on a man-hunt would do. I signed up for Match.com.

Although I've lurked on the fringes of Match for months, debating about buying a membership, this was my first real introduction to online dating. Quickly I learned the elaborate rituals of the cybermating dance.

For one, men wink indiscriminately. Not as forward as an actual email, the "wink" feature on Match.com lets a suitor signal his or her interest - kind of like eye contact at a bar. It's low-investment, from the ego standpoint, and guys were quick to throw the wink around.

There were some e-mailers, too. These tended to be more aggressive and generally more confident. They were strong coming out of the gate, sending multiple paragraph, well thought-out e-mails. One bachelor seemed to be making a slow transition from "winker" to "e-mailer," sending an e-mail that read, simply, "hi." He wasn't bad looking and had an interesting profile, so I shot back, "A man of few words." Apparently so, because I never heard back.

Early on, I could see there was going to be a dilemma with the parameters of my yes-ing game. Did saying "yes" mean I had to wink back? To everyone? Did I have to respond to every e-mail? I could see how my Match membership could become a vortex of free time, sucking up every unused minute of the day. I decided that I would sort through the winkers, only winking back to the ones I liked, but, I had to respond to every e-mail.

I kicked off a correspondence with a half-dozen bachelors, mostly one-liners, waiting for someone - anyone - to ask me out. As it turns out, most of them wanted to "get to know" me before we met in person. Very sensible, from a dating standpoint, but the clock was ticking on my limited-time free membership.

"Edward and I hadn't exchanged phone numbers (I may be optimistic about this "yes" business, but I'm not crazy)..." Finally, "Edward" suggested dinner. He was two years younger and two inches shorter, and every rational bone in my body screamed, "No." But, of course, I said yes.

I asked if we could change dinner to coffee and suggested we meet at six. As 6:15 came and went, then 6:30, I had the sneaking suspicion I'd been stood up. Edward and I hadn't exchanged phone numbers (I may be optimistic about this "yes" business, but I'm not crazy), so I had no way of knowing.

I sat behind the polished wooden bar of the coffee shop and sipped tea out of a paper cup. The man behind the counter made small talk, and we both laughed at my delinquent date. Soon, we realized that we had a friend in common.

"That's too funny," I said. "What are the chances?"

He smiled back. "Yeah, pretty amazing. Maybe we could all go out sometime?"

"Absolutely," I said. "Yes."