In high school, I could never quite understand celebrity crushes. One friend was obsessed with Dean Cain (Lois and Clark was big at the time), another loved Take That, someone else practiced their signature all over their exercise books with ‘Affleck’ in place of their surname.

But I just couldn’t see the point in wasting all of your adoration on someone you would never, ever meet.

Then, a year or so after leaving high school, I started listening to the Adam & Wil show on Triple J. Slowly, morning after morning, sitting in the traffic – I became more and more infatuated with Wil Anderson. One day I announced to one of the girls at work, “I’m in love with Wil Anderson.” She rolled her eyes. “Not you as well,” she said. Apparently Wil was quite popular. I was disappointed. I thought I was different for developing my crush on an Australian radio personality instead of Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp. I also thought my crush was more legitimate than a Hollywood crush because Wil Anderson was someone I could actually meet – he lived in the same city as me – there was every chance that I could just pass him in the street one day.

I started thinking about that whole six degrees of separation thing and decided that it was in fact inevitable that I would be able to find someone who knew and could introduce me to Wil Anderson. I remember telling the girls at work: I’m going to meet Wil. Oh, right, and how are you going to do that? I’m just going to ask every new person that I meet if they happen to know him, eventually, someone will.

Just days later I was having drinks at an apartment in Chatswood where I only knew one or two people. I suddenly remembered my plan, and announced to the room at large, “Hey, does anyone know Wil Anderson?” Okay, I admit it was a pretty random request from the new girl at the party – but here’s what happened next. A bunch of people started laughing and pointed out a guy in the far corner. “Ask Jeremy,” they said.

So I asked Jeremy. Turns out Jeremy’s Dad was a producer of the ABC show The Glasshouse that Wil Anderson hosted at the time. “Can you introduce me to Wil Anderson?” I asked, breathless. He shrugged. “Can get you tickets to the show,” he said, “Take you backstage after.”

Ha! And the girls at work thought I was a moron. (Don’t say a word).

He took my number and promised to let me know when he had tickets for me. The next night a friend asked me to come along to Trivia at ‘The Mean Fiddler’ out in Rouse Hill. I went along, and that’s where I met a guy called Steve. I remember two specific things about that night. I remember when Steve asked me the time, instead of waiting for me to answer, he picked up my wrist to check my watch for himself – and when his fingers touched my skin: sparks. Literally, spine tingling sparks. Later he asked about the necklace I was wearing. It was a small dream catcher and he leaned in to touch the chain and again his skin brushed against mine. My breath caught in my throat. Sorry – am I getting too Scarlett O’Hara for you here? Okay, fair enough, I’ll lay off a bit. When we said goodbye, he asked if he would see me there again next Thursday.

Hell yes.

A day or so later I got a call from Jeremy. “I can get tickets for The Glasshouse for Thursday night, and you’ll be able to meet Wil Anderson afterwards.”

I thought about the crush I’d had on Wil Anderson for the past couple of years. I thought about how I’d planned on somehow seducing him backstage; how I was going to be able to turn my celebrity crush into an actual relationship. Truthfully though, I don’t think I’d even bothered to Google Wil – wait, did Google exist back then? Well, anyway, if I had, I would have discovered that he was taken, that he lived with his girlfriend, that I didn’t have a chance in hell. I’m not really sure why I thought that all I had to do in order for Wil to fall in love with me – was meet him. One part deluded, one part egotistical.

And then I thought about Steve. I remembered those two moments, when his fingers had touched my skin. I thought about the fact that I had promised him I’d be there next week, and that if I didn’t show up – I might never find him again.

I turned down the tickets. I went to the Fiddler. After hours of chatting, I made the first move by reaching out and grabbing his hand. He made the next move by leaning across the table and kissing me.

And over ten years later, here we are. Me, and the Guy I Gave Up Meeting Wil Anderson For, married, two beautiful small girls. Damn happy.

P.S. Quick question, would it be weird if I asked Steve for tickets to Wil’s next stage show for my next birthday?!