I write a lot about manliness and my love of men, so at some point I knew I would be writing about Daniel Craig.

I wasn’t originally a fan, truth be told.  I thought his body a bit boxy, and his face utterly forgettable.  I was fuming through the whole two-plus hours of Casino Royale.  What kind of James Bond fell in love?  What kind of James Bond FELL IN LOVE????  The whole reason to love Bond was because you knew he wouldn’t love you back.  Bond made misogyny sexy, and Daniel Craig was ruining it.

And then Quantum of Solace happened.  And I remember squirming in my seat with desire.  I found myself lusting after a man who I wouldn’t look at once, much less twice, if I saw him on the street.  But oh how I succumbed to his smoldering on-screen sexiness.

And then a friend got tickets for the Graham Norton show (the British equivalent of Letterman), and I had to keep from licking my phone as I read her text that Graham was hosting the Skyfall cast on the night we were going.

My mind went wild.  I nursed fantasies of charming my way into Daniel Criag’s room, scripted imaginary conversations where I captivated him with real life cloak and dagger stories, strategized about the best color lipstick to wear.  On the day of the show, I even made the effort to shave.  (You know, just in case…)

Not only was he perfect sitting on that red couch, in his steel grey suit and skinny black tie (and yes, the seams of his suit were screaming with the effort of containing all that muscle).  He was a perfect gentleman too.  I melted when I saw him picking lint off of Judi Dench’s black jacket.  I wept for all the children I would never have with him when I saw how tenderly he tended to Dame Dench by bringing her water glass to her, even though she was sitting only an arm’s length away.  I even decided, goddammit!, that I didn’t want him to cheat on Rachel Weiss with me so that he could maintain this purity of his that I had just discovered.

It was a sad, sad day.  I never got close to him.  Never got to let my hand drift southward as I gave him an innocent hug.  Never even got a blurry camera phone picture of him from my back row seat.

No.  Daniel Craig breezed in and out of my life, and all I was left with was the memory of being within shouting distance of a man too perfect to be mine, and too decent to be a god.