I have this secret obsession that has been gnawing away at my very core for years. It may sound funny to you, but I swear it’s real. My deep, long-running crush on classical singer Josh Groban.”Josh Groban?” I can hear you say. “Really?” Of course. I get it. Why would a 17 year old girl be interested in a 34 year old manchild? Well, I’ll tell you. Give Josh Groban a listen. Whether it’s on your grandmother’s Christian music radio or on one of his many PBS reruns. His soft, silky, transcendent voice will take you on a journey. He will raise you up if you just believe.

Josh Groban is, as the kids put it, “super dreamy.” His buttery brown eyes stare into your soul and pierce your very heart. His fluffy, brown hair must be softer than the ears of one thousand kittens. The way he walks onto the stage, the strong presence he commands, is enough to make you fall in love on first sight.

However, my encounters with Josh Groban have been limited. Going to one of his concerts has been an impossible dream. Before my tiny, child-sized hands can type out Ticketmaster’s URL, the middle aged ladies, the Carols and Cheryls and Susans of this world, have snatched up the tickets like free mints at a Mediterranean restaurant. But I will not give up. I will meet my hero, Josh Groban.