To be smitten, according to one dictionary, is to be, “strongly attracted to someone or something.” It’s a curious definition if you consider that smite is, to hit someone or something with a physical blow, and smote is the past tense of smite.

If you made it through the first paragraph, I am here to report that, at age 69, I found myself utterly smitten by a woman two years my junior. I don’t know where it will go between us, I know where I hope it goes. 

I can’t imagine anyone loving language any more than I do (there are many who do) so, when you notice a flaw, a missing piece, you may need to fix things on the fly.

When I met this woman, I was immediately smited; the “blow,” if you will, coming from the glorious, beautiful and, to be frank, utterly unexpected reaction to her. 

No, here is where the language is missing a few words. Once I was smote, I noticed I was feeling smittified. All the world looks more beautiful. The flowers, bird songs, sunsets, sunrises.  It’s so obvious to you that you’re smittified, you’re sure people can tell something is up, just by looking at you. 

When I first spent time with this woman – smittified turned into a case of full-fledged smittification – and let me tell you, I was so fully in the embrace of smittification that English nearly became a second language for me. The problem is, English is the only language I know!

It’s a wonderful experience. I’ve been smittified and swept off my feet. Thankfully, I haven’t lost my balance.