As yet another Valentine’s Day arrives, your intrepid writer finds herself single, still.

Although I’ve had the patience of a saint waiting for my Prince Charming, I am beginning to think he needed to update his GPS. It was with this thought in the back of my mind that I clicked “post” on Facebook’s newest way to delve into our personal lives, “Facebook Dating.”

Introduced to the United States last fall, Facebook Dating is hoping to find love for some of the three quarters of Americans that use the site. And it’s big business, too. Analysts expect dating apps to bring in $12 billion by the end of this year. That’s billion with a “B.”

It was an easy sell for me, because it was free. I didn’t have to download another app and there were no pesky ads getting in the way of Cupid’s arrow. Best of all, I didn’t have to sort through a decade’s worth of photos of myself. I’ve been in my fair share of awful photos, and, luckily for me, Facebook has saved them all. I picked a few of my favorites, the ones that don’t make me look like a crazy cat lady, and got started.

Facebook Dating matches users based on what you say you’re looking for, but also suggests people who have the same interests and enjoy the same activities.

In a new school “check-yes-or-no” kind of way, whoever likes your profile comes up for the user to review. Once you decide how you feel about them (by literally clicking a heart or an “x”), the app then opens up a message board where you can text back and forth.

Ever-savvy, Facebook even offers icebreakers for when “How you doin’?” isn’t quite right. One man used this feature, and it led to a pretty good discussion about the best Meryl Streep movies, but that’s about as deep as it got. Another spent lots of time telling me about his kidney transplant, which is great, but didn’t really seem interested in asking me any questions about myself, apart from the health of my kidneys. In one risky moment, a man asked for my personal cell phone number so he could send me “a few pictures.”

“Oh God, pictures of what?” I wondered.

Turns out, it was pictures of the homemade lasagna he’d just taken out of the oven. Who wouldn’t be proud of that? It looked delicious. My spirit animal, Garfield, was impressed. And hungry.

All of these odd conversations did lead to a coffee date at the end of the week.

Unfortunately, the coffee shop does not serve lasagna. It’s sad, because Lasagna Man soon told me that he wanted more of a “friend with benefits,” not a “nice girl” like me. While I appreciated the honesty, rejection always stings, even when it comes wrapped with sweet words. But, ultimately, it’s okay. I know, at the end of the day, I can make my own friggin’ lasagna.

Catherine Mitchell is a copy editor for The Daily Reflector and Adams Publishing group.