When I was 8, I was convinced that I was going to marry Davy Jones.
I used to practice kissing on car windows for the hope that we would one day meet. Sadly, I discovered he was already married. No bother, I still loved him and I knew through telepathic transmission that somehow he knew that. I understood we would never be together in a physical way, but I was a kid, and he was old enough to be my father and I guess that meant I should just stick to buying Monkees cassettes, which I did, rather faithfully. I don't think I ever got past my first crush, and most likely he subconsciously planted my love for British comedies, boys named David and absurdest humor.
Thanks, Davy! You'll be missed!