So I heard a rumor this weekend, Gav. Is it OK if I call you Gav? My friend and I have a habit of actually extending that to "Gavvy-Gav-Gav-Gav," but that's beside the point. In light of not wanting to make you feel like less of a man, we'll stick with Gav.
Back to the rumor. I hear you're coming to town. OK, not my town, but a town nonetheless. I have transportation. I can get there, Gav.
It reminds me of last summer, Gavin. Do you remember when we met? Because we did. You autographed a poster for me. I had to buy an $25 t-shirt just to meet you. $25, Gav. That's a big deal. Not to mention the $10 I spent on the poster.
You smiled at me, Gav (or at the girl behind me. Next to me? The guy corralling us like cattle?). Regardless, in that moment I knew - out of the 1,207 squirming pre-pubescents in short skirts you met that night, Gav, we had a connection. Was it the way you signed your name, Gav? With the smiley face worked into the "o" in "Hello"? Was it the way my camera flashed directly into your face? Like a celebrity ducking from paparazzi? You were chewing gum that night. I have a picture of it.
We took a picture together that night. It only shows my arm extending to your chest, but I'm confident we hugged. And it was magic.
Do you remember, Gavin? I do. And I'll see you again soon.