When: Fall, Sophomore year of college
Like many of the flames of my past, I met Mr. Saturday Night at a local drinkery. We had a few mutual friends, and since we were both minors, we were squashed together at the back of a booth where we could easily hide the remnants of the “X”‘s on our hands.
He wasn’t strikingly handsome, but I was immediately attracted to his charm, his confidence, and his curly head of dark hair. I have this thing where as soon as I realize I like someone, I pick out a celebrity that looks vaguely like the crush, and I will simultaneously obsess over the two. This time was no different. Before we even spoke, I calculated that he looked like a younger, thinner, version of Jack Black- and had a similar personality to boot.
The conversation came easy for us, and after a few moments we spoke as if we were the only people in the room… as if we weren’t surrounded by loud music and stumbling drunks. At first, the conversation stalled over our mutual love for The Beatles. Like myself, his favorite album was Rubber Soul and he maintained that Ringo actually was a good drummer. As the conversation progressed, I found that we had nearly everything in common. He loved Meatloaf, Kids in the Hall, and The Adventures of Pete and Pete; but most importantly- we shared a dream of one day becoming comedians.
I’d never before met anyone who had even heard of The Second City, much less anyone who wanted to study there. I had decided back in the 5th Grade that one day, I would become an improviser… and until that moment every person that I told about my future looked at me like I was a nut.
Mr. Saturday Night sure didn’t look at me like I was crazy. Instead, he looked at me in the eyes and said “I swear to God, I’m going to marry you one day.”
And just like that, I was in love.