It was 1982 and we had met at a party in Soho two nights before. She had scribbled her name on a matchbook cover for me as she was leaving with her friends. Now we were meeting for drinks at a Second Avenue bar.
As I listened to her speak, I told myself “You’re going to marry this woman.” I didn’t know why I was feeling this way as I barely knew her. After a few drinks we walked up Second Avenue toward her apartment. When we got there, she invited me up for a nightcap.
Apologizing that she had very little in her refrigerator since she had just moved in, she handed me a Heineken. That was the first good sign because at the time it was my favorite beer.
She then pointed me toward a closet so I could hang up my jacket while she scrounged up something for us to snack on. As I reached in for a hanger, I saw a Yankees jersey hanging there. “So you’re a Yankees fan?” I asked. “Yeah, you better not be a Mets fan” she replied. “No” I said, “I’ve loved the Yankees since I was two.” A second good sign.
She then suggested I put on some music. I reached into her collection of albums and there in front of me was every Bruce Springsteen album ever made up to that point. As a Jersey boy it was now clear to me why I was going to marry this woman. And two years later, I did.
Now married 39 years, we’re still enjoying many a Heineken together, watching our beloved Yankees, and still listening to Bruce.
