by Lynette Alice

Created on: June 02, 2008   Last Updated: March 31, 2009

I'll be the first to admit that when it came to dating I was a stern taskmaster. If running an interview process for candidates works well in the corporate world I reasoned it would be just as effective in my personal life. When the time came that I felt I was ready to settle down with Ms. Right I called in a professional headhunter and we began the arduous process of finding my life partner.

Mona, my headhunter, began very professionally by running me through the paces of answering several hundred simple questions aimed at assessing my needs and wants. Generally they were the yes no variety to gage my receptiveness to smokers, varying religious denominations, political affiliations and the like. By the time we reached questions pertaining to television viewing preferences I decided to save us both some time. "All I really want is somebody within ten years of my age either way with a job and their own medical insurance. It would be very helpful if we wear the same size clothes so I can double my wardrobe. Someone attractive like a young Heidi Klum or Anjelina Jolie would be helpful but not necessary, and they should have their own number two pencil."

With this stringent criteria in mind we next took out ads in the local papers to create a buzz and to help form an interview pool. Although we stated an RSVP would be nice, anyone that wished could walk in freely and apply for the position. Mona and I set up shop at a local coffee shop willing to aid in the process and make a few bucks on the waiting applicants. Decked out in my power suit I sat alongside Mona and we started at the top of the list.

Suitor number one was obviously a bit too young and suitors two through six could not provide proof of insurance. Suitor seven was a possibility but she failed to meet the criteria of bringing a number two pencil although she had several functional pens. She would be kept on the back burner although her inability to follow directions would not go unnoticed. Numbers eight through seventeen were all amazingly wrong, especially the man that swore he was really a lesbian on the inside. The list was nearly ended but walk in traffic was amazingly good. Perhaps it was my powerful attraction, or more likely the promised free lattes to all who applied. The world may never know.

Interviews went on and on and I began wondering why I had chosen to use a headhunter. I was actually meeting worse candidates than I found in clubs or through friends. Thirty six applicants came and went

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