There is a story I tell like this. I should point out that it barely registered as a story to the other participants.
Many years ago, my erstwhile love slave sinnabor moved to the Bay Area. The necessary background here is that you might say I was there at the beginning for him. You could quibble as to whether I counted as his "first" (technically no, basically yes). When my job started taking me to Mountain View a few times a year, we would have a visit. In advance of one visit he was very excited to have me meet his new boyfriend philbutrin.
Can't I just call them Brian and Phil?
He picked me up from work and drove me to their house in San Jose. He went to change his clothes and Phil and I got to chatting. I learned Phil did work similar to mine, or at least he had for a while. Phil mentioned a trip he and Brian had taken to the east coast, when they visited Rhode Island. I love Rhode Island, I said. Why did you go to Rhode Island? I went to school in Providence, he replied. Which, by the way, is code. I know that code. I gave him a look and said, slowly, "I went to school in Providence." At that moment Brian walked out and we both looked at him and said, simultaneously, "You didn't tell me Steven/Phil went to Brown."
"Oh. You both went to Brown."
Brian, to this day, has no idea why this would even be worth mentioning.
So I would tell this story to friends from Brown and say, "How many bearded gay technical writers from Brown do you think there are?" (3 to my knowlege, actually.) Then I would note, "When I imprint, I imprint!"
So there. I gave him an impossible set of criteria to match, and darned if he didn't do so. Well, it's funny to me, although Brian still doesn't quite see why and Phil keeps his counsel.
What brings this up now of all times is that, through his journal, I learned today that Phil's mother, like mine, grew up in Bethlehem Pennsylvania.
Do I even have to elaborate?