On Sunday, I went on a date — except no one called it that. And the confusion that followed captures everything wrong with dating in my generation.

After talking to a guy for some time, I bluntly suggested the possibility of dating. At his request, we met up at a nice dinner place to “chat” about this. He paid for my meal and, after 15 minutes of small talk, said, “I like spending time with you, and you’re obviously pretty, but I don’t know why we have to date.”