I forbid myself from on grounds that the stalker-ish ex-wife of a partner I work for (who is convinced that a mythical affair involving yours truly ended her marriage) uses the site, and I could only imagine the online smear campaign if she saw my profile.
And e Harmony is out of the question—not just because of the five million-part questionnaire, but because it seems too conservative. Phil, whom I despise.) Finally, there’s JDate, and—what else can I say—my college boyfriend upended my need to convert to Judaism when he dumped me after graduation.
Reservations are always made under the first name of both parties, and I’m only expected to share my contact information if I want to see the guy again.
Oh, and I can go on as many or few dates per week as I desire.
And don’t get me started on meeting a potential husband in a bar.
With over 150 It's Just Lunch locations worldwide, there is sure to be one near you.
The last of my still-single law school girlfriends showed up for dinner this past Friday with a 1.5-carat engagement ring.
Meanwhile, I’m nursing a broken heart from my most recent attempt at a relationship.
For starters, it wasn’t clear from Lizzie’s tone on the phone whether I was being invited to a sales pitch or an audition.
As a lawyer, I’m conditioned to think in terms of tiers and rankings, and I was terrified of being banished to a lower, unspoken tier in the It’s Just Lunch dating pool if I showed up looking the least bit unpolished.
I guess “It’s Just a Drink at at a Cheesy, Showy Restaurant in the Loop after Brushing Your Teeth and Putting Eyeliner on in the Office Bathroom” didn’t have the same pithy appeal.