Genuine requests that we all post our dream, um, “dates.” Here are mine, and bear in mind that this list is subject to change without notice, for it rises and falls according to the tides of my moods.

Yes, I am aware that some of my choices are unconventional. So what. Maybe the lines will be shorter.

And so, in no particular order, here are the men of this week’s dreams. I’m a sucker for mysterious heartbroken rebound romantic musical men. Throw in an accent of some kind, and you’ll eventually have to use me for a doorstop because I’ll probably pass out from an acute case of the swoons and no six of you together could lift me.

Three of my choices are known to you all, of course; but I wonder how many of you can name the other two? They are not all that well known except in certain circles, but they represent talent and cool and hunka hunka burnin’ love to me like nobody else can. I might even kill to meet them, but don’t tell anyone lest I end up on the suspect list at most major airports, which could really louse up any escape plans I might have cherished.

Oh baby. I’m listening to a solo album as we speak, and he likes women who play the guitar. And that chin dimple, and those beseeching eyes. . . . help meeeeeee. . . . . . . those black leather pants. . .. . . that fumbly British declaration of love via The Partridge Family. . . . .sophistication with just the right amount of humor. . . .

Ahem. You were saying? Yes, I’m quite old and far beyond any such thoughts. I was distracted by the little birds outside my window.

I’m sure at least one of the five could use a doorstop.

Okay, G, now what?