We spoke of cabbages and kings and all that for a couple of hours, in the course of which I managed to impress her thoroughly with my Zen-like wisdom.
Especially the bits that come of being one of those rare human males who have a sufficient blood supply to operate, as it were, both heads at once. Among other things, she's built rather along the lines of our old friend Misty the Mouse, who, as some of you remember, is the only rodent in the world who is also an SRD fan — but I digress. She was impressed at my ability to actually look her in the eyes while she was talking, and not have my attention drawn downwards by . . . er . . . gravity. And she was tremendously pleased to find that I'm one of those odd men who not only appreciate intellectual capacity in a woman, but require it. At one stage in the conversation, she mentioned that I'm just the kind of guy she generally falls for, but she hadn't before because she was intimidated by my height.All well and tickety-boo? Not quite. Trouble is that about six weeks ago, just before I ran into her at Westercon, she fell madly in hormones with another guy, who is spending the summer out of town, but whom, in fact, she is going to see this weekend. (I took her round to the local Greyhound station to pick up her tickets for the trip, which shows that I am either a preux chevalier, sans peur et sans reproche, or a consummate fathead.) These little timing errors have often been the bane of my existence and the vexation of my idle hours. She did throw out a dark hint, complaining that all her boyfriends eventually dump her and not the other way round — suggesting, perhaps, that she is in some fear of this happening with the current model — but one can only wait and see, or incur a certain amount of reproche and a definite loss of proüesse.
She did, just before we parted ways, suggest that she ought to fix me up with her roommate, whom she describes as essentially a taller (and red-haired) version of herself. But then she herself shot down the idea, as the said roommate is recovering from a nasty breakup after a six-year relationship, and does not want to be exposed to any male things unless they have been chloroformed, dried, and pinned to a card. Timing again.
Still, it gives one the sensation of being an object of attraction and possible affection, which one has not had in more years than one cares to recall. However, I shall lay a brick in the mouth of the next twit who announces cheerily to me that 'it's all good'.
* 
The thing is, I think that some authors really do see book reviewers as publicity agents of sorts, rather than public servants. 
Sounds like you ran into someone like that.
And my older son got a bunch of wasp stings this morning when he was helping his father. 
But thanks for the encouragement all the same.
And all you have to do it to treat her with kindness and respect, and she will burn for you, emotionally and physically, for the rest of your life. 
