My new friend/kickass yoga teacher C has brought many joyful things into my life this past year: moral support while shoe shopping (it gives me panic attacks, seriously), a cookie-baking companion, impressively toned quadriceps.

But perhaps the thing I cherish most about my new friendship with C is her vocabulary. She dispenses made-up words like bad doctors toss off obscure medical terms–you know, as though you ought to have heard them before.

So when I told her about the sudden burst of male attention I’ve been subject to lately, struggling to pull our sweaty clothes off in the bustling changing room, post-class, she didn’t miss a beat before pronouncing: “Sometimes mantourage happens!”

“What was that?” I asked, bending my head toward hers. “Did you just say ‘mantourage‘?”

“Yep,” she replied, “It’s one of my words.”

(Interlude here: Once, I was out at a rock show with a group of women. After we left, one of them regaled us with the story of her extended flirtation with the bass player. ” You know,” she said, dramatically flipping her hair as we walked down Central. “I was his first pick. I am always first pick.” I need hardly write that this comment caused all of us to vomit a little bit in our mouths. I do not mean to suggest that I am always first pick. I’m not. Or second, or tenth. I do not claim any more attention than anyone reading this. Only that, like many of us, when attention comes, it comes all at once–and when it doesn’t, um, it doesn’t. Moving on…)

I happen to know it was pure coincidence, but, after that “Man Up Or Shut Up” post I wrote recently, one of the guys I’d had in mind actually manned up and asked me out.

A few days later, out at a bar, another cute dude asked for my number. Then I got back in touch with a guy who was flaky when we met months ago, but who now seems eager to reconnect. Then another guy, one who I’ve had a flirtation with for approximately two years, finally asked whether I had a boyfriend and wanted to go out with him.

Have I mentioned that no one has looked at me since August?

It actually hadn’t occurred to me, either, until I started prepping myself for a night out. (You know: putting on pants that aren’t pajamas, shaving.)

“I just realized that I haven’t even kissed someone since August!” I told N, as I admitted to some measure of nerves.

“Really?” she replied.”It doesn’t seem like it!”

“I know,” I said. “It’s cause August was a very busy month.”

It’s true: in August, everyone wanted to date me. Okay, not everyone. Really just two people, one of whom changed his mind by Labor Day. But still–for a minute there, it all seemed unreasonable.

And then fall happened. And yeah, I did do some hibernating. But not totally–what I call “hibernation” is some, less social person’s version of a normal, active social life. Early bedtimes notwithstanding (thank you, insomnia and early morning yoga shift), I’ve been out and about a decent amount.

And, for four months, I may as well have not had breasts. Besides some occasional, unproductive Facebook flirtatiousness–a pastime that most guys I know have fessed up to habitually indulging, since that HuffPo piece–each time that someone asked what was up with my love life, I cheerfully replied: “Absolutely nothing!”

Besides the hibernation factor, there was also the whole mentality thing: I really did talk myself (and, perhaps, you) into “not wanting anything” for a while. But come on, we all knew that was bullshit. No one wants attention from the opposite sex because it’s practical–we want it because it feels good. Because we all need regular reminders that we are sexual creatures. And that we can, sometimes, connect in that way.

So, had some handsome fella come my way at some point in September, or October, or November, I doubt I would have turned him away.

But he didn’t. I saw some handsome fellas during that time. They’re around. But they didn’t seem to see me. (Or, perhaps, they did—but didn’t do anything about it. The nerve.)

Until, suddenly, a few did. Which brings us back to “mantourage.” As C says, sometimes it does happen. Begging the question: why? I don’t look any different this week than I did three or six or ten weeks ago. I’m pretty sure my scent and wardrobe haven’t changed. So why, now, do I seem suddenly more attractive to the opposite sex?

Perhaps it’s similar to the boyfriend factor: aka how, when you have a boyfriend, you seem more desirable. You’re more confident, you’re not looking, you give off some mysterious “you can’t have me, therefore you want me” odor. Guys flirt with you more.

Sad as it seems, just a hint of male attention can lead to a major confidence boost. So maybe that’s what causes “mantourage” to take place: one spurt of interest leads to another. And then another. And then another. Until you’ve got enough suitors to form a minyan–except that none of them know any Hebrew because, as we all know, Jewish men prefer Catholics.

Which, I must say, I find very inconvenient. I’ve tried dating multiple people at once. It doesn’t work. I have trouble concentrating when I’m dating one person; when there’s more than one to think about, I may as well be my 101 year old grandmother with all six of her grandchildren simultaneously traveling on airplanes. I’m a wreck.

So the fun part, for me, isn’t about actually doing much to take advantage. And nor, as we’ve seen, is it very much fun to contemplate why. But I won’t complain: turns out it’s pretty nice to just sit back and feel flattered.

Sometimes mantourage does just happen. And, apparently, you’ve just got to let it.