what happened to the filet and bottle of wine?

A friend of mine found herself on a date recently. They met at a quasi-fast food, alebit good, restaurant for dinner where they ate cafteria style. The main portion of the date was getting drunk at a party. Ah, the romance, right? Wasn't there a time when a date meant someone showing up at your door dressed to whisk you off to a evening of filet and a bottle of red at a chintzy new place? Not anymore, we've killed the date.

I don't think I have ever had that romantic first date, or even a romantic second, third or fortieth. Instead we are subject to awkward coversation, sub-par experience, and a complete lack of magic, or we forego all that and take it straight to the bedroom. It seems there was a time (and maybe this is just in movies) where someone put some thought into a date and created an experience worth remembering. Now, it's just figure out somewhere to eat or something to see, hope we get in, and then suffer until it's over. Somehow through all that maybe enough of a connection is established to create a relationship.

I like to be excited about a date. Excited to see where the conversation leads and what the other person is wearing. I like to wonder what it's going to be like when we say good night, and if there will be a kiss. Maybe a romantic, flirty walk around the canal before calling it a night because you aren't ready to say goodnight yet. I guess, I'm old fashioned, but I like to think I'm worth it. Worth an actual date.