n our last installment, our columnist, a single mom in the Midwest, had met a very promising new guy online. Is it time for them to take things off-line? Find out here.

Tuesday, 9:05 a.m.
To hell with playing it cool. I write back right away: I love sushi.

Wait. That’s a lie. In fact, I’m practically revolted by sushi. Except for California rolls.

So, in a completely uncharacteristic move, I delete my first response and replace it with the reality.

	I delete my first response and replace it with the reality.

Might as well set a precedent now rather than find myself eating raw fish entrails later.

He writes back with another LOL. Plus this: You know yourself, and you’re not afraid to speak the truth. I like that in a woman.

Score. I give Chris my cell-phone number “if you want to talk in ‘real time.’”

Tuesday, 6 p.m.
I am driving home from work and thinking what a bold and risky move it was for me to tell him the truth about my aversion to sushi. I mean, this is easily a 9.5 on the Richter scale of emotional growth. In the past I would never admit to a prospective date that I hate anything he suggests. I’d save information like that for months into the relationship, somewhere between the day I don’t feel compelled to put on mascara and moment I stop using air freshener when I’m done in the bathroom.

I find his reaction promising, not just for the relationship but for my own emotional well-being, with or without a man in my life.

Tuesday, 9:40 p.m.
I’m on the phone with Chris, and I’m feeling a bit disappointed. I hate to say this, but I liked him better in print. On the phone he seems reserved and, honestly, not very friendly. Where’s all the

I’m exhausted but I want to check my mail one last time before bed.

LOL?

And he sounds like a chicken. His voice is high-pitched and, for lack of a better word, clucky. This is not appealing.

Give him a chance, Sara. So what if he’s a little shy? And maybe I’ll get used to his voice.

Wednesday, 9:15 p.m.
I’m walking the dog with Helena, a computer genius and mother of four charming and equally brilliant children. She has been divorced for five years and has dated minimally in all that time, pouring her attention into her career (resulting in several major promotions and a lot more money) and in her kids (resulting in their charm and academic excellence). She tells me when she allows herself a moment of mopey sentimentality, she wishes she had a husband to complete the picture.

“But then I get realistic. All the good men are married. I know that’s a cliché, but I believe it’s really true. At least in this town.”

I ask her why she limits herself to our small and sparsely-stocked pool of available men. Why not cast a broader net? Why not the Internet? “You know, online dating?”

It’s too dark to make out her expression, but I suspect she isn’t thrilled with this idea and I’m right. Helena says she would never “resort” to going online for dates. “I’d rather be single.” I want to tell her that I’ve found nearly all my dates this way, but judging by her reaction I don’t want her (or me) to feel awkward. Maybe some other time when she seems more receptive.

Wednesday, 11 p.m.
I’m exhausted but I want to check my mail one last time before bed. I haven’t heard from Chris all day. We still don’t have a firm date set for the weekend. I wanted to wait for him to suggest something. Maybe he’s waiting for me.

I don’t understand why some people seem to pull away from email (or IM, phone calls, or any other form of staying in contact). Here you are, thinking that you’re actually connecting with this other person, and then, after a series of friendly conversations: nothing.

I decide to be bold and send an email: “Everything OK?”

Sara Susannah Katz is a writer in the Midwest.

Read Single In The Suburbs, Part 56