The Challenge

June 21, 2010. Summer Solstice. The day upon which the earth's axis tilts as close to the sun as it's going to get. The last day before the first full day summer. The last day before I willingly fall victim to my sister's vicarious, ridiculous scheme to bust me out of my rudderless work-a-day rut; to rocket me skyward on a dazzling trajectory toward book contract, movie deal, and more; to settle me down with a boyfriend who isn't a psychiatric nurse, hairdresser, counter-espionage agent or cocaine-addled recovering Catholic.

"There aren't even 100 days in the summer" was my response when she first presented the idea before Memorial Day (as well as my brother-in-law's, reading this over my shoulder moments ago). "Coffee, lunch, drinks after work: 3 dates in one day. Easy. It's a numbers game," says she.

"You're setting yourself up for failure -- July 4, you'll have had five dates, you'll look like a loser who can't get dates," says the brother-in-law. "Where are you going to find these dates anyway?" Sister, who hasn't been on a date since 1991: "Duh. Have you never heard of Match.com? Like shooting fish in a barrel. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. We'll even put your Match listing in the book. You just need to promise me you'll cut me in on the royalties."

So at the last possible opportunity, the last moment before it's technically summer, I take her up on the throw-down. "Ok, you get half of everything." 100 dates in 93 days. Just for something to do. Starting tomorrow.