SOMEWHERE BETWEEN pasta and dessert, Ally decided she was done with dating. The first half of the evening hadn’t been so bad. He had the kind of slick blankness that allowed Ally to project an entire inner life onto him, like she was writing backstory for a minor character in her favorite TV series. When he stuttered when asking her about what she did for a living, it was because he was nervous, not bored. When he stared at the couple behind them, he was imagining their future --- 

definitely not checking out the girl in the mini-dress made of that sheer black fabric popularized by yoga pants. And when he swatted her arm with the menu for no particular reason, it was because he found her very presence almost painfully adorable. Everything started to get a little clearer when, three bites into her mushroom ragu, Ally’s date poked at it with his fork and asked, “You into this?” “Yeah, I like it” she replied, adjusting her too-tight baby-pink blouse over her tummy.