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There are quite a few things I can accomplish in six minutes.

Take a shower. Iron a shirt. Scramble eggs. Vacuum the apartment. Drive to Cane’s (or, as I call it, cook dinner).

I had no idea I could date in six minutes.

But that’s the main rule in speed dating: six minutes per date.

I’ve been on blind dates, dates with co-workers, Internet match dates, double dates and even a date set up by my Mom.

Speed dating was new to me. 225 asked me to attend a speed dating event and write about it. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.

I’m a busy career woman who complains there is never enough time to meet a man or have a real social life. Being single in the Red Stick is not always easy.

Also known as pre-dating, speed dating allows busy singles like me to meet several potential dates in a short period of time and then to decide, based on these first impressions, if a real date is in order. I liked it from the start.

I started by logging on to cupid.com where I signed up for a Monday night event at Sullivan’s Steakhouse.

A pre-date tip sheet offered some up-front advice: Avoid wearing “caterpillar-green” as it is reported to repel the opposite sex. Wear a cinnamon-vanilla scent as men associate the smell with love. Don’t talk about sex. Ask fun and unusual questions. Do not ask for personal information.

Boy, did I feel prepared.

Running straight from the office to Sullivan’s on a Monday night didn’t leave much time for primping for my night o’ dates, but I did remember the cinnamon-vanilla suggestion and made sure to walk through a shower of the appropriate air fresheners before leaving. I also arrived early enough for a much-needed dirty martini before walking into the lion’s den of dating.

The organizers gave us all a number. The women were each assigned our own table for the evening. The men were to rotate tables every six minutes when the bell rang. Fortunately, there was time for a drink or two before we took our positions for this adult version of musical chairs. I just hoped it wouldn’t turn devolve into Russian roulette.

Date No. 1 was awkward enough. The first time either of us had done this (or so we both said).

He was 32. Check. Non-smoker. Check. Employed. Check. Graduated from college. Check. Has two kids. Ooops, no check (I have personal reasons). And likes sci-fi? OK, conversation over—and only two minutes before the bell.

Date No. 3 showed promise. Non-smoker, no kids, never been married, good job, owns a house and a car. Our conversation was actually interrupted by the bell. That’s a good sign—he gets a check mark on my scorecard. Yes, they give us scorecards.

I breezed through a few more dates until Date No. 7.

He was….Well, yummy.

Twenty-eight, non-smoker, no kids and the cutest in the room. I think he said he taught golf, or tennis. Or was it bowling? Who cares—I am ready to learn whatever he teaches. Definite check on the scorecard.

An hour-and-a-half, four dirty martinis, 12 dates and six checkmarks later, my speed dates were over.

I arrived that evening leery, even cynical. But I left with the buzz only a nice date and some chilled vodka can give you. I left thinking maybe I could do this again.

I left hopeful. >>

On the way out the door, the women seemed to gravitate to the ladies room for a nightcap of high school-esque chit-chat.

We all agreed speed dating was more fun than expected, the guys were overall OK and that number No. 7 got a checkmark from every girl in the room.

Turns out there were a few creepy moments, too. Like the fact No. 3 asked all of us if we’d ever hired a defense attorney or a hit man. But we agreed it was a good experience overall, and that we’d probably do it again.

We were speed-dating experts now, and it felt a bit addicting. What woman doesn’t want to have a man’s undivided attention for a whole six minutes times 12?

Everyone headed home wondering who would call. As the promo literature says, “Pre-dating is a test drive without the embarrassment of being rejected on the spot.”

Oh goody. I can wait and be rejected in the comfort of my own home.

In 24 hours I will have the email—the message confirming if anyone felt chemistry, if anyone wanted another date, if anyone didn’t reject me.

Ah, the joys of being single in the Stick.