And we’re off, filters set for men aged twenty-four to thirty living in Brooklyn or Manhattan who exercise, like animals, and can see themselves settling down within the next few years. Five is our magic number, meaning the number of people whom we plan to “serve” (Game, Set, Match’s version of a “poke”). If someone “lobs back,” a private chat is activated. If the target of the serve doesn’t respond within a predetermined period of time, they land in your “Ace” folder (an Ace being a tennis serve that hasn’t been touched by the receiver) and won’t appear in your searches any longer. It’s a brisk way of dispensing with people who don’t respond.

“How long should we give them before we Ace them?” I ask.

Bree’s halfway through her second glass of wine.

“A week?” she suggests.

“I was thinking forty-eight hours, but let’s compromise and say ninety-six.”

“Okay, sounds good. Who should we serve first?” Bree asks, looking eager.

“I think we need to narrow it down more. There are thousands of people here.”

“Should we tighten up the age range?”

“I was thinking we could tighten up one of the lifestyle categories. You’ve mentioned drinking gets you into trouble sometimes. What if we filter for nondrinkers, see what comes up?”

“You mean complete teetotal-tarians?”

“. . . Yes.”

I don’t know if “teetotal-tarians” is a malapropism or a new term used by the twenty-five-and-under crowd. The four-year age difference between Bree and me may as well be a generation. I’ve spent the last two decades hanging out with women in their fifties and sixties, and honestly I think I relate to them more at this point. Although despite what Rude Miles from the café believes, I’m VERY computer savvy.

“Okay,” she agrees.

I like that she doesn’t fight me on it. It proves she’s serious about curbing her drinking for the chance at a longer-term commitment.

I click the appropriate buttons and refresh the page.

The first profile is a rail-thin guy with a wispy mustache and a dreamy look in his eyes. I fear I’ve led Bree astray. “Nondrinker” might be code for “shoots heroin.”

“Sorry, let me adjust this again . . .”

I filter for “straight-edge” instead.

“Ooh, how about this guy?” she says immediately.

MustLoveDogs’s profile picture includes (who else?) his dog, whom he’s hugging from behind and gazing at with fierce adoration. His description reads, Seeking someone as wonderful and loyal as my black lab, Henrietta. I don’t think I’ll ever find anyone as perfect as her, though. LOL.

“Awww,” says Bree. “That’s so sweet!”

Before I can stop her, she’s reached for her screen and clicked on “Serve.”

“Whoops! Okay, um, if that’s what you want to do, but I’m not so sure. You know how some people call their pets ‘fur babies’?”

“Yeah?”

“I think this is his ‘fur wifey.’ ”