I was a 14-year-old freshman sitting on the couch beside my parents when it happened.

I hardly expected pop music to be changed forever on this night. But sure enough, our jaws dropped as we watched the opening number of the MTV Video Music Awards.

Britney Spears kissed Madonna.

My love for Spears didn’t begin this night, but at that moment, my support became concrete for the “Toxic” singer. It may be irrational, but it is sincere.

The obsession began at my 10th birthday party. My mother bought me the “… Baby One More Time” CD, which instantly became my favorite gift. The boys who attended my bowling party made their jokes, but I didn’t care; it was almost like Britney was born to make me happy.

The memories just continue from there. Growing up with Britney was perfect.

In fifth grade, I got in trouble for looking at magazines with Britney on the cover instead of following along with the reading of “Where the Red Fern Grows.” Later that year, I taught all the girls in class the dance to “Oops!… I Did It Again.”

I dragged my Britney-hating best friend to see “Crossroads,” and during the karaoke scene, I sang every word to “I Love Rock ‘N’ Roll” long before I even knew there was a woman named Joan Jett.

In high school, I convinced friends I wrote a poem called “Touch Of My Hand.” It’s actually a song on her 2003 release “In the Zone” about, well … just think about it.

I live for that woman. She makes me stronger and her music makes me a slave for her. I’m not sure what it is. Britney just has that boom boom that I want.

And I’ve stuck by her through the ups and the downs. Britney’s life has been a circus, but that may be why I love her. Not because I love watching a fallen pop star shave her head, attack paparazzi or lose custody of her children, but I love her because I want to see her get better and rise back up to the top.

We, the consumers, built the Britney dream machine, and we watched as that machine malfunctioned. How could we turn our backs on something we helped build? I was totally with the crazy YouTube kid screaming, “Leave Britney alone!”

Her comeback was exciting for me. The year 2008 began with Britney strapped to a stretcher being carried away to the psychiatric ward, but ended with a hilarious role on “How I Met Your Mother” and three MTV Video Music Awards.

Seeing Britney live two years ago was a high point in my life. A friend texted me the day before the show saying she had an extra ticket I could have. I apologize to my sociology professor who tried to teach me that day, but there was no way I could pay attention in lecture after finding out I was going to see my favorite woman live.

And even though the only spoken words Britney said were “What’s up, Columbus?!” and “Have a wonderful night!” during the lip-sync-heavy show, after all she had been through, I was just happy to see her alive.

I’m psyched to see what’s next for the femme fatale. She’s already beaten the odds of longevity and hushed the naysayers. She’s undeniably a queen. I hope no one holds it against me when I deny the Rihannas, the Katys and the Gagas; I truly just want Britney.

And if anyone says something bad about her, I’ll shoot you a dirty look faster than you can say, “it’s Britney, bitch!”