The last time I went out on a date was as a somewhat naive 22-year-old student. Of course that was 15 years ago, when "You've got mail" was something you heard from your mom. Now I'm facing the new realities of dating as a 37-year-old recently single mother of three.
How much more interesting the first date would be if we both were to communicate our true emotions. Still, those actual thoughts and feelings are definitely present, whether uttered or not. They're simply bubbling under the conversation's surface; biding their time until we feel more comfortable and trusting with one another.
My editor recently suggested that as long as I was writing something called "Singles," it might be helpful if I actually went out on a date every once in a while. Research. Give the column the ring of verisimilitude.
I remember what I was wearing on just about every first date with every boyfriend I've ever had.
Who is supposed to pay? And why does the whole subject make me so squeamish?