“Oh, hi,” I say unenthusiastically, I’m terrified she’ll summon me back to her office to make me answer another set of silly questions. On a positive note, she’s switched from Mr. Keller to Dr. Keller, meaning at least she’s read my questionnaire.

“Am I catching you at a bad time?” Jennifer asks. I picture her at her desk with a saccharine smile stamped on her lips, probably unhappy about my scarce keenness.

“No, no. I’m between sessions right now. What can I do for you?”

“Ah, Dr. Keller, the real question is what I can do for you. I’ve got good news! Our proprietary algorithm has found a potential match for you. We like to book our blind dates on weekends. Nothing speaks of commitment to the cause of finding a life partner as meeting on the most important evening of the week. What message would a Tuesday date night send, right?” Jennifer chuckles. “Are you free this Saturday?”

I sigh inwardly. The Knicks play on Saturday against the Miami Heat, but I’m sure my Dating Specialist would be even less pleased with me if I told her I’m refusing a date to watch a game. At least it’s not a home game. If I had to give up a single night of my seasonal membership to Madison Square Garden, I might’ve cried.

“Yes, I’m free on Saturday.”

“Wonderful. Your match has also confirmed she’s available. Our agency’s policy is that clients do not share names before meeting. We prefer to avoid social media stalking sprees that could generate false ideas based on what people found online.”

“So I’ll have absolutely no idea of who this woman is until I meet her face to face?”

“That’s right, Dr. Keller. But please trust me when I say I’ve selected an excellent match for you. And also, the mystery adds to the intrigue, the romance. It’s a tested strategy we’re confident leads to the best results.”

“Okay, but how are we going to recognize one another?”

“Ah, that’s easy. We ask all our clients to pick aliases. The name can be something funny, or their favorite character from a book. Your date is Miss Bishop.” Is Bishop a famous surname? It doesn’t ring a bell. I wonder how she chose it. “Who would you like to be, Dr. Keller?”

“Mr. Ewing,” I say, picking my favorite Knicks player of all time.

Jennifer sighs. “Another Knicks fan, I see.”

She doesn’t sound pleased. Should I have picked something funnier? She caught me off-guard, and Patrick Ewing is the first name that popped into my head. Maybe if they were looking for brilliance, they should have given me more than five seconds to come up with an alias.

“Where are we supposed to meet?” I ask.