It had to be Jill…

Lindsay over at Suburban Turmoil wrote about how excited she was recently to have literally touched Ira Glass, and also shared stories of her other celebrity crushes and how she was certain they would have spotted her in the crowded auditorium and called her up to the stage to share her unique talents…. or whatever.

Reading that post made me think of my biggest celebrity crush from 100 years ago when I was in my early 20s: Harry Connick, Jr. Oh, my, I loved him before everyone else did, and was certain that he and I would get along famously if we were to meet. We have much in common, I reasoned. For one thing, he sings, and I sing! For another thing, we were born in the same year. His dad had died? And my dad had died! Oh mah got! The coincidences were endless.

Right after I had moved to DC from Central Pennsyltucky PA in 1990, I learned that Harry was coming to Wolf Trap in Vienna VA, a mere subway ride from the city, and I asked friends if they wanted to go with me. Everyone was all, “Um, Harry who?” which of course meant they would not be a suitable companion for the concert. I couldn’t find anyone willing to spend money on a ticket and trek out to the ‘burbs with me. Screw ‘em, I thought. I bought myself ONE orchestra section ticket and went out there all by myself.

So, I’m sitting there, alone, reading the Playbill and people-watching. And I look over to the aisle and see this hot chick, wearing a hot pink stretchy spandex dress and super-high-heeled black patent leather pumps. She had the most beautiful curly golden brown hair. She was stunning. Everyone was looking at her! She looked vaguely familiar, but I just couldn’t place her. Then she and the people she was with walked up to the VERY FRONT ROW and took seats in the middle! Who the hell is she? I wondered.

The concert began and it was magical. Harry was singing directly to me. I was sure he would make eye contact (Yoo-hoo, Harry? Over here! No, further to the left!) and see that I was singing every word of every song, and invite me up on stage for an impromptu duet. I was even hatching a plan to try and get backstage to introduce myself to him, because I just knew that once we met, he would fall instantly in love with me and we would live happily ever after, the end. And I seriously had myself believing that this could happen. (And readers? I was stone cold sober.)

Except. About halfway through the show, Harry introduced a new love song that he had written. How sweet, I thought. Harry wrote a song for me! This will be Our Song – perhaps our first dance at our wedding! Then I was jolted out of my daydream by Harry’s voice, and he was saying, “…and I would like to dedicate this song to my new girlfriend Meg Jill, who is here with me tonight!”

Everyone applauded. At whom was Harry gazing? The chick with the hair and the spandex dress. AHA, that’s why she looks familiar! She’s Jill Goodacre, who was a Victoria’s Secret model at the time. She was destined to become his wife. To say I was a little crushed would be like saying it rained a little bit in New Orleans a few years ago. I actually cried while he sang to her. She beamed up at him, he beamed down at her, their gaze locked, and I knew then that my silly little dream of meeting Harry backstage after the show had been crushed by a lingerie model.

You know those friends of yours, that really nice couple? The handsome guy and his beautiful wife? And their gorgeous, well-mannered children? They have their perfect lives and jobs and marriage and OH, you should see their house! And you really want to hate them, but you just… can’t, because they are truly the nicest, most generous, most sincere people on God’s green Earth, all humble and well-intentioned, with their gleaming white teeth, and they don’t swear and are never sarcastic, and their kids are so polite, dammit!, and really, you keep trying to find something to hate about ‘em but there’, just, NOTHING?

I think Harry and Jill must be that couple. I wanna hate ‘em, but I can’t. It’s enough for me to know that Harry’s happy. And successful! Good, good for them and their lovely family! Really.

(Note: If I were as talented as the inimitable Bossy, I would have Photoshopped my head onto Jill’s body here, and probably added captions, too, but I don’t have her mad skillz.)