Two ships that pass in the Target

So, I'm at the Target. And I turn the corner at the hot drinks aisle, questing for cocoa. And I see this guy. You know those guys where all you can think is "holy shit"? And they especially only seem to be there when you look like holy shit. Or maybe that's just me. But then again everybody has a different sort of HS kind of guy. My knee-melter may not be yours. This one happened to be tall. Kinda lanky. Hugh Grantish hair. Looked like the lead in a remake of Brideshead Revisited. Dashing wool overcoat and everything. Holy shit. Him, stunning. Me barely recognizable as female in the way only cold weather can bring. Puffy coat. Industrial strength wool cap. Babuska thrown on at a jaunty angle. Of course I say barely recognizable as female. The giant box of Always in my hands might have been a tip off. And I already had my face composed in my patented "Outta my way, slowpoke" scowl. Actually, it's not patented. It's just something of a speciality.

Not that I was in his league. I just would have preferred that it didn't look like I wasn't in his species. He was a non-starter being 10 years too young and about 3 times too pretty (you know how I feel about men who are prettier than me). And yet. . . and yet. I do love Hugh Grantish hair.

What is it about a good looking man that even if all other factors are not equal, you still want to feel attractive, if not actually attract? Doesn't really matter how old they are. Rich or poor. Gay or straight. You still have that momentary, illogical, flying thought - I wish I'd put on lipstick or the pretty sweater. Or in this case had dressed as something other than Frances McDormand's body double in Fargo.