Everybody remembers the first time. Your first broken heart. Nearly as I can tell, it stays broken. Oh, lust and the thrill of romance put a spring back in your step if you're lucky. That old, fractured ticker, though, is already out of kilter; just waiting for that anvil to fall. Again.
With enough mileage you can do it on your own. I don't involve myself with the routine at this point. No corsage. No "pick you up at eight." No hurtful breakup. I just fall hopelessly in love and go straight to agony.
I recommend it.