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  • For me, having been happily married for 25 years it qualifies as a first love. The traditional first love, as ardent as it was, pales in comparison to real love.

    In my twenties, before I met my husband, on a typical Sunday afternnon in New York City I would go to the bank with Susan, my roommate, and we take out enough money for cheeseburgers at J.G. Melons. We did this for about eight years. During those years our jobs and boyfriends morphed into other jobs and other boyfriends but the bank withdrawal and cheeseburger lunch was a constant. What neither Susan or I knew was that at that time the love of my life and future husband was padding around in his socks above our heads. He lived in an apartment over the bank.

    It seems like something way beyond a missed connection but a strange connection none the less because for eight years as I took out burger money he was wandering around upstairs. When we did finally meet, no where near the bank, it was love at first sight.

    I always wonder if we had met on the line at the cash machine or as I was eating a cottage fry if the same sparks would have ignited?
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