Three cheers for cancer sticks!

Ossia, "That crush went up in a poof of smoke."

I'm not sure how to put this honestly while leaving the laughable bravado out of it, so I'll plow ahead: Since mid-adolescence, I've maintained a policy of approaching women to whom I was attracted. That is, I maintained that policy except when in a serious--albeit generally ephemeral--relationship, and until I got married.

There have only been a few times when these efforts (whether understated compliments or overt advances) weren't rewarded with a response falling generally into the "favorable" category, whether a blushed cheek, a demure thank-you, or even an acceptance of some sort. (One notable rejection being the Tuscan bartender who dismissed me with, "Nei tuoi sogni," which was warm ambrosia flowing from her lips. In my dreams indeed, lovely Lavigna.)

Exceptions to this policy were very rare in bachelorhood, and understandably more frequent since then. However, the drive has remained so strong--perhaps the continued impulse to 'hunt' now bolstered by The Thrill Of The Forbidden--that I finally reached a compromise with myself: A year or two ago, I began approaching beautiful strangers in restaurants, airports and convention halls, saying, "Please don't read anything into this, but you have beautiful eyes/a lovely smile/remarkable legs, and I hope that someone in your life really appreciates that about you," and then walking away. (Before you lose your lunch, I've only used the creepy "legs" one once, but WOW -- Her name was Anne, and they were remarkable.) As psycopathic as it sounds, I've found that this allows me to get the rush from her response--that quick gasp for air, the smile toward her girlfriend, the "that is so sweet, thank you"--and then move on with life, without wondering for the next several days what would have happened.

A handful of the exceptions grew to a magnitude that I'd call them Unexpressed and Unrequited Crushes -- a couple even took on characteristics that I'd openly associate with obsession. I'll address each of them at some point.

The most recent one was a girl at work. A woman, really, but she's at least ten years my junior, so "girl" seems to fit. Tall, brunette, slender yet proportionately curvaceous. Not particularly sophisticated--sort of bubble-gummy, in fact--but confident, in a head cheerleader kind of way. Big eyes, full lips.

For a long time, I wasn't sure whether she was married (I've learned subsequent to all of this that she is) but knew from a photo at her desk that she has a child, and I overheard her once on the phone saying, "Did you find the clothes that momma laid out on your bed this morning for Purple Day at school?"

I'd speak a little louder and a little wittier, if I thought she was within earshot. I interact with her very little, but she's good friends with the secretary of one of my colleagues, and I found myself playing the old "get the roommate sold on you first" angle with this secretary.

Our office has long corridors as well as inner walls primarily of glass, which makes for long sight lines, and if happened to spot her heading one way or other, I'd often interrupt whatever else I was doing--ostensibly to go to the copier or restroom--in order to pass her in the hallway. I tended to dress a little better in the morning if it occurred to me that I might see her that day.

Expectedly, I'd fantasized about her (more on that general topic in a future post), invariably playing out a sequence that took us in her white Corolla to lunch at Bambara and then the rest of the afternoon stress-testing springs at the Hotel Monaco. This recurring fantasy covered rational considerations ranging from my job security (which probably wasn't at risk, as my company has seen high-level cases of known-yet-unpunished infidelity among employees) to whether we'd use a condom to how I'd someday explain my divorce to my daughter.

Yes, we had quite the little covert op developing in my mind.

Then one day I saw her smoking, and I went cold turkey.

In lasting tribute, I need to create a bumper sticker that reads:

"Hotties who smoke make my spouse seem sexier."

(It's copyrighted here, so don't get any ideas.)