Hi. I'm Matt. I'm 25 years old, a working professional, and by all accounts, a fully grown, functioning adult man. Also I happen to love the British man-band One Direction.
To put my love into perspective, if I had children, I would willingly and gladly sacrifice my eldest and strongest for the chance to sit on One Direction's collective lap for only 10 seconds. (I'd give all my imaginary kids away for a full 60 seconds. And I'd sell the additional rights to my future imaginary children for a minute and a half of lap contact. One Direction, if you're reading this, I have the paperwork drawn up.)
This is an artist's rendering of my bed, where I am usually cosily curled, dreaming deeply of a Harry Styles clothed in a bedazzled sugar plum gown, prancing about to a fairylike tune, tossing glitter about a field of daisies.*
But on this day, I was NOT in my bed. Instead, I'd awoken at THREE THIRTY IN THE MORNING to travel by train to New York's Central Park for a 7 a.m. Good Morning America concert, where I would see my glistening children in person.
What follows are my thoughts on my real-life encounter with the glory and goodness that is One Direction.
First, they arose from the misty darkness of that backstage-area place where they wrangle them at Good Morning America.
It should be noted that no humans conceived of the natural world should look this delicately precious at 7 a.m.
Then they posed with this sign thing and yes, it was very tempting to make a 1 Dong joke. HA HA, very funny. Dong like the body sausage. We get it. But you can't even make that joke. Cause their pants are too tight.
And then Niall whipped out his guitar — which I have affectionately named Finnian O'Finnegan The Guitar — and lo, the music that befell us was magical.
Also of particular note: Niall's lightning-colored hair, each strand of his curious chest follicles, and of course, those smooth Irish arms, which have grown quite bulky in recent days — don't think I haven't noticed.
And, obviously, Niall's beautiful blouse, which, if I had to guess, is from Madewell's as-yet-unreleased autumn collection. Note the dangly fringe, which I would gladly run my fingers along, upon Niall's invitation.
Then, of course, there was Louis's hair, perfectly coifed like a crown atop his royal head.
Also he made this face a lot, and I enjoyed it every time, because I was like, "That's me. That's a face I would make. I'm making that face right now."
Then Niall and Louis sang about being aroused. Because "No Control" is about being aroused and that's what they sang. They sang about waking up in a sexy mood to a crowd of teenage girls. And I lived for it.
Then there was Liam, who tried to work this hat, and I'll admit, it worked.
Liam is once again approaching David Beckham levels of "daaaaamn," and for that, I commend him greatly and wish him well.
Also he lifted up his hands like this and you almost got to see his abs. Which is always fun and exciting and something new.
Also he laughed. And even though I couldn't hear it, because everybody around me was too loud, I imagine it sounded like one of those toy dolls that you pull and it makes a cute little giggle and then you feed it cherries or something. Just like that.
Then there is Harold.* The Queen Himself. The Royal Cherub. The Crowning Flower. The Curly Princess.
He emerged, as always, with a look that says "I know this jacket is ridiculous. I know my pants are too tight. I know my hair is blowing wildly in the wind. But I don't give a single tea or biscuit." (Or something like that 'cause he's British, remember.)
And lo, did he growl and scream. And it was mighty and great.
Seriously, I saw deeper into his mouth and soul than I ever thought possible.
I saw our hopes and dreams, tied together as one. I saw a house in London and a beach mansion in L.A. and a loft that we sometimes visit in New York, but mostly we're beach people, ya know. Plus, that's what our kids like.
I saw the sun. And it was bright and piercing.
Also this is what everything looked like from behind. I'm not telling you where to look, I'm just giving you the option.
Finally, as our beautiful morning moment together came to a close, with Harold lost deep in thought, we all sat together in contemplation of the sights we'd encountered on this day.
Four beautiful British/Irish gentlemen lined up, sparkling like dew in the morning sun.
Also this happened.
