Not long after I posted that little rant about DinnerDate4Eight, I got an e-mail from them. It was short and to the point: “Dinner, Wednesday, 7:00. Please confirm,” (give or take a pronoun).

A nearly leaped for joy, but I just sat down, and I was comfortable. Plus, after all this time, I was a little overwhelmed it was finally happening. So, I sent a reply saying I was in, so make with the details. No information was forthcoming.

I was getting worried. The day was coming up, but still no contact from the company. Then I started to get nervous, thinking they were withholding the information from me; like in the Godfather, they were going to drive me around town and then whack me at a pizza joint.

Then on Tuesday (TUESDAY!), I got an e-mail from them saying, essentially, “Oops, never mind. Not everyone can make it. We’ll try again later. Don’t worry it happens to lots of guys the first time.” …I made that last part up.

Frankly, I’m beginning to wonder if I could do a better job rounding up seven single strangers on my own. It almost seems like a better deal for me because if I were in control, they could all be women. It would be like “The Bachelor,” except we wouldn’t eliminate anybody. Everyone’s a winner.

What did I join this company for? Am I just paying for an ineffective middleman? Did I give these people 30 bucks to act like that friend we all have who says “Dude, I should totally hook you up with this chick I know,” but then he forgets, and next thing you know, he’s dating that chick?

I’m beginning to wonder if I’m going to see seven other people at a dinner table anytime before Thanksgiving.

Until then, I sit around, fantasizing about who my other dinner guests may be; like I’m a little girl having a tea party with her teddy bears.

“What’s that Ms. Ruxpin? You want my phone number? Why I’d be delighted to give you my digits.”