Maybe it’s because even at the age of 50, I am still capable of having romantic notions.  Maybe it's because I like working with my hands and  my idea of sexy has as much to do with intelligence, razor sharp humor, grace, impeccable manners, charm, natural (not the affected, “I have a Black American Express Card” version of) sophistication, dignity, and a bon vivant approach to life as much as it has to do with a built-in, factory guaranteed good-as-gold heart, little boy curiosity and playfulness (is a dose of Cary Grant charm too much to ask for?), a Swiss-precision-remembers-everything calendar and noble sensibilities. 

It doesn’t hurt if he also flashes a brilliant smile, opens the door reflexively, exhibits a certain cool, often practices (creative) dexterity horizontally as well as vertically, enjoys dining as much as he enjoys eating (don’t go there, please) and doesn’t mind wearing Armani.  And he looks damn good in it.

Did you happen to notice there was not a single thing about physical looks in that description?

If I could, I would build from scratch or cut and paste all those qualities onto one man and never be hungry again.  It doesn’t matter if he has long or short, silver or dark, wavy or close-cropped hair (or even none at all) as long as it’s washed.  However, lack of cleanliness, neatly trimmed nails or excellent dental hygiene are deal breakers.  Non-negotiable.  If any of those things have been abandoned, all the cologne, kindness or money in the world won’t convince me that when I kiss you I’m not ingesting something that’s been hanging out in your mouth longer than “The DaVinci Code” was on the New York Times Best-Seller List. 

In a perfect world, the perfect guy would come equipped with all of the above qualities, never break my heart, keep his word, be kind and compassionate, respect women, remember to put the seat down (and wash his hands always) after using the toilet, give excellent massages (or pay for them), make some sort of impact or difference in the lives of others, enjoy what he does for a living, tip generously, love animals, be neatly shaven, know how to cook a couple of things in the kitchen (and clean up afterward) and still find me to be the most fascinating woman on the planet when all is said and done.

It’s a lot to ask, I know. I can dream, can't I?

But would these qualities make this nonexistent guy “The Sexiest Man”?  Nope.  It would make him much more than that.

It would make him “Mansome” if not one of the “Mansomest Men of All”.

Looks aren’t everything.

And the Mansomest Men of All know this better than any woman.

Which is what makes them utterly irresistible.