There’s no doubt about it. I’m an attractive man—so attractive that women and girls have to force themselves to be diffident in my presence. It must be a struggle, pretending to be blasé around me. Over the years, a few have given up the struggle and succumbed to my attractiveness, notably my wife, who simply couldn’t help herself.

Even men find me attractive. There is one, in particular, living in my bathroom mirror, and he can’t take his eyes off me. Every time I look up, there he is, looking back … admiringly.

Cats are fond of me, especially kittens. When I sit down, they are drawn magnetically, jump up into my lap, sit there purring with contentment. Reminds me of my wife in bygone days.

Most dogs find me attractive, too. My son once owned a golden retriever named Bailey that couldn’t get enough of me. She would dash up, leap upon me, and if I was sitting, pin me to the sofa so she could lick my face … thoroughly. You’d have thought it was coated with hamburger. Naturally, I would giggle and laugh myself silly, which encouraged her to lick some more. Before Bailey relented, she coated my glasses with slobber, and everything in the room became blurry, unrecognizable.

Houseflies find me attractive, as well. In summer, they’ll wait outside our front door, knowing I’ll open it when going to our mailbox. Once the door opens, they flit into our house, panting expectantly for my return.

By then, they’ll have chosen a captain whose job is to buzz around my head as I watch TV. Waving at the captain never discourages him. Once in a while, the little beastie bumps my forehead, which I believe is a housefly’s version of giving a kiss.

In the animal kingdom, no beast adores me more than springtime mosquitos. When I go for an evening stroll, my attractiveness draws them from miles away. If my wife happens to accompany me, the swarm will totally ignore her in favor of inoculating me (sorry, Ann). The next morning, I need a transfusion.

Yes, being attractive has a downside.