I wouldn't have made the cut with Darlene Daggett, the former QVC exec who was looking for love in one of the wrong places.

She got a lot of embarrassing attention after suing a dating service that promised her introductions to wealthy, high-profile bachelors for the purpose of canoodling and maybe more.

I am kind of age-appropriate for the 62-year-old divorcée, although "high-profile" is questionable and I am not wealthy. There's also the small matter of some failed marriages. I won't say how many, but I am in the Glen Campbell/Darren Daulton ballpark.

Daggett's suit against Kelleher International was settled out of court, with her lawyer saying the $150,000 Daggett paid for introductions brought her into contact with the "mentally unstable, physically unfit, pathological liars, serial Lotharios, stalkers. …"

Why are my ears burning?

I said she got a lot of embarrassing attention. Let me repaint that.

She's an attractive, rich woman, and the attention will spawn a flood of mail, tweets, emails, or whatever the lovely and lonely are using these days.

Yes, there will be the mentally unstable and scheming among them, but you can find the same at a country club. Everyone wants someone to love, and to be loved, and that's the desperation that drove Daggett to Kelleher. And using a dating service no longer carries shame. About 15 percent of Americans have done it, according to Pew research.

When I was a kid, scouring the city for the "right" girl was the job of Mom, the matchmaker. I seldom appreciated her well-intentioned efforts.

Now that I am an adult, I've been on a few dating sites myself to find eligible women.

In the "old days," when I wanted to meet someone, I did what everyone else did — I dragged myself through smoky bars or joined clubs. I joined Smokenders because I wanted to meet a woman who smoked. I signed up for dance lessons because you were guaranteed to have a woman in your arms. I lurked at Carole King concerts.

In the twilight of the 20th century, along came the internet, which killed personal ads, such as the very popular ones in Philadelphia Magazine, back when "SJW" meant Single Jewish Woman and not Social Justice Warrior. The internet delivered to your device a cornucopia of porn, which discouraged dating (I mean, why bother to go out?), and dating services such as match.com, which encouraged it.

The technology — which offers pictures, profiles, lies, and embellishments — is amazing. Now you can be rejected by someone you have never met.

Going through thousands of profiles is like candling eggs — so many inspections to make: Age, race, religion, height and weight appropriate? Politically and educationally compatible? Lactose intolerant? Smoker? Gluten allergy? Love animals? Hate winter?

I had a lot of first dates, a few second dates, but nothing permanent. Most were pleasant, only a few awful.

Most sites "suggest" people they think would be a match. One of my friends was matched with his sister. I was offered a neighbor who loathes me. Another pal was matched with his ex-wife. Strike up Rupert Holmes' "Escape (The Piña Colada Song)."

Daggett made a mistake using a service promising rich, high-profile guys. I can understand the instinct, but if it's love you are looking for, wealth and fame are bad measures. Her true love might have been a scenery painter at QVC, but would she have even looked at him?

I'm not following Daggett to Kelleher International. I have nothing against them, but I am (happily) taken, by a woman who is the sister-in-law of one of my closest friends.

He introduced us. So low-tech. And free.