A friend of mine revealed to me at the weekend -- after the second glass of wine -- that he had broken up with his girlfriend.
The moment of truth had come when she looked up at him in bed, stared deep into his eyes and said: "The data I'm getting from you is that the experience was imperfect."
He made his draconian decision because he found this dialogue unromantic. The truth is, though, that she might merely have been a datasexual. (Well, she is a banker.)