Back in high school, there were several girls who I had significant crushes on who, even then, I knew would be a terrible match for me. They were dumb. Or crass. Or had many boyfriends. Or partied too much. Or something else, that I knew would never work.
And yet, I’d think about them a lot. Some I even worked up the nerve to ask on dates. A few even accepted (none ever worked out).
I remember tellingly friends back then that it must be pheromones that drove my attraction to them because what else could it be?
Pheromones sounded like a reasonable scientific explanation for my irrational attraction. After all, I couldn’t control this invisible force of nature.
Now, 40 years later, I occasionally see a woman when I’m walking my dogs, who gives me that same giddy, lustful, “I’m attracted” feeling I had way back then.
I would never approach her. She’s a mom of a passel of kids, married, way too young for me and I don’t date.
But, seeing her the other day made me laugh because it reminded of my “pheromone driven attractions” from way back when.
Except this time I realized, it wasn’t the pheromones that attracted me. It was just boobs.