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Every speed-dating event I hosted was like sending my kids off to the junior prom. To me, they were all princes and princesses arriving at the ball, but with name tags and cocktails. A Night of Latin Passion My first event, geared to the 30-something crowd, was at a hot Latin restaurant, known for its authentic dishes and outrageous salsa parties.

Plus, single myself at the time, I saw this as more than a professional development experience; it was a promising way to meet men and get paid for it. Registrations filtered in slowly, but by event day I had booked a perfect 16 men to 16 women ratio.

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Whether there were eight or 80 couples in the restaurant, they would have eight dates. You know, I saw a woman head down to the ladies room. “Imagine eight dates in one night,” the newscaster bellowed.

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When the bell tolled for me—that is, my stint as a speed-dating event coordinator ended—I wistfully packed up the vestiges of the tumultuous relationship in a cardboard box.

The speed dating company had requested their stuff back when I informed them it “just wasn’t working out.” I layered colored folders labeled “Dating Cards,” “Seating Assignments,” and “Welcome Posters” upon each other, slid them lovingly into the black canvas briefcase branded “8minute Dating,” and sighed. Sure, it felt a bit petty to me that after all we’ve been through in the last eight months, that they’d make a stink over a stapler, some folders, and an electronic timer that malfunctioned from the get-go.