Boylston Street, circa 1990. Me sitting in an exceedingly small, ultra fancy, hair salon getting highlights. I was full-on miserable trapped beneath a large black cape with hundreds of pieces of foil in my hair. From the ammonia and other chemicals, I smelled like an industrial accident. My eyes burned so badly that they were watering causing an epic mascara tragedy—black streaks all over my pasty white winter skin. I had a weird Johnny Depp anti-hero thing going on. Did I yet mention that the space was tiny? As if my worst nightmare was coming true, in walks the most amazing human. Something extraordinary and magical about him. Yes, very good-looking, but there was something…