Normally, I’m a reasonably articulate guy. Even in the presence of an exceedingly attractive girl – kryptonite for many men – I can be (at least moderately) charming, smart and funny. Yet, every so often, I meet a girl who, for whatever reason, completely confounds me. In her presence, I’m absolutely unable to complete grammatical sentences, much less to convey anything endearing through them.

When I was in ninth grade, I had a huge crush on such a girl: Steph, a tenth grader directing a play in which I was acting. And though I was (inarticulately) smitten through much of high school, I hadn’t seen her since she had graduated, some eight years back. So I was particularly surprised when, one evening just a few months ago, she materialized at the New York City house party of an (apparently mutual) friend.

Sure, previously her mere presence had turned me completely imbecilic. But I had changed and matured immensely over the intervening near-decade. Frankly, I wasn’t even sure if I was still attracted to her.

Or, at least that’s what I was saying to a group of friends as she made her way across the room. Yet, as soon as I turned to greet her, smiling confidently, what actually came out of my mouth was something along the lines of: “Are how you going?”

I write this mainly because, in the next week or two, I’ll be heading out on two dates – one with a charmingly complex bloggeress, the other with an actual Rockette – both of which threaten to similarly send me into semi-retardation. Sure, I’ll be hoping to maintain my conversational best. But this weekend, as a backup plan, I’ll also be polishing my most charming silent body language. Just in case.