‘I like stuff!’

I like to think of myself as all confident and sparkly and beguiling. I am no longer the shy girl who could barely look a guy in the eye let alone talk to him. I flirt. I toss my hair. I smile. I’m fascinating. I can handle men.

And then I talk to a Super Hot Guy. I’m not talking about a cute guy or even a handsome guy. I’m talking about the kind of guy who could be commanding $15 million a picture and posing for the cover of GQ – shirtless and without the aid of airbrushing.

Standing in for Super Hot Guys everywhere

Only he’s not on the movie screen – he’s right in front of me, looking me in the eye, smiling and pretending to be interested in what I’m saying.

I say “pretending” because, honestly, what are the chances he could ever be interested in anything about me?

That’s pretty much the line of thought my addled brain took when I met Super Hot Guy this week. He walked up, started a conversation and I was so bedazzled by him that I could barely keep up. I didn’t know what to do with my hands and arms. I could feel nervous sweat creeping down my back. I stuttered. And the whole time, when I should have been concentrating on what he was saying, all I could think is, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, he’s beautiful. And he’s looking at me. Squeal!”

I was so distracted I almost missed that he was flirting with me. And I could barely, lamely flirt back.

Why, why, why is this still happening? Why am I not the same confident woman in the presence of this man-god? How on earth am I supposed to date a man-god like him (every woman’s dream, surely?) if I can’t keep myself from giggling each time he smiles at me?

I’d feel worse if I didn’t know this was a common affliction. My friend Beth – one of the most confident and witty women I know — once had a chance to meet one of the ambassadors for Super Hot Guys, Gavin Rossdale. Face-to-face. She even got to touch him (OK, shake his hand).

And, like me, she turned to Jell-O. She smiled. She giggled. And she lost all control of her verbal faculties. Retelling the story, she said it was like her brain stopped functioning because it was blinded by Gavin’s beauty.

“I was like, ‘You like stuff? I like stuff!’” she recounted.

Oh God. Here’s hoping that next time I can come up with better than “I like stuff.” I fear that’s asking for too much.

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