Days before I turned 30, life was not going great for me. I had just been fired from my job, and my cousins had organized a sizeable birthday party where I had to face the world single and unemployed. Something like a Jewish boy’s second circumcision, with a much bigger audience.

Not long after, my Uncle arranged an opportunity for me with one of his oldest business rivals. Not an easy call for him to make. Perhaps still depressed, I overslept for the interview, and despite showing up an hour late, somehow got the job. This was far more of a turning point in my life than I realized at the time.

About three months into the job, my new boss was receiving an award, and he invited me along. The ceremony was held at the Cooper Hewitt museum on the Upper East Side. Not particularly famous, for its grounds or content, but quietly proud for a Manhattan mansion. Upon arrival at the event, my boss quickly abandoned me to catch up with some old friends, and I made my way to the open bar for some companionship on the rocks.

Her boss, who I later learned was the devil’s gift to typography, was also receiving an award that night. Always smarter than me, she brought a friend along, but somehow found herself at the bar as often as me. We did not cross paths until late in the evening, when it dawned on both of us quite separately, that we had plans later that evening, and an awards-event buzz was not nearly as mysterious as it sounds.

And that’s when God giggled, and said “Let's see what happens here”. I think there was an announcement that the refreshments phase of the evening would soon end. Or maybe I saw the busboys start clearing away the trays of cheddar and French bread. But all I knew was that time was running out on my quick salvation to sobriety.

Apparently, I was not alone.

Mid-feasting on my appetizer-cum-entrée, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her at the other end of the table. All that stood between she and I was four and half feet and Mt. Cheese Cube.

And then we giggled. To this day, I think giggling has become our mating call.

We instantly recognized what the other was doing. I think it was the speed of our consumption that tipped each other off. But that was the moment. No across the room glance. No you got your peanut butter in my chocolate. No awkward silence. Just a recognition that our paths in the universe happen to be treading the same steps for a few brief moments.

We started talking. More giggling. I really can’t remember what about, or for how long. But in my ever-so-suave way, I decided it would be impressive to take my eyeglass off and put one of the ear pieces on the tip of my tongue. Like a paco raban cologne ad. Unless I was wearing a “dungeon masters do it in the dark” t-shirt, there was probably nothing else I could have done to more evidently reveal I was a nerd.

She let out a horrified giggle, but still a giggle.

We kept talking. I remember there were some tents on display, I guess the work of one of the award recipients because the Upper East Side is a few feet off the Appalachian trail.  

At some point, her friend approached us, and gave the knowing “Are you okay? Do you need rescuing?” look. To her, not me. Amazingly, I was aware enough to notice. In that moment, all you can do is hold your breath and pray. Not that I was an expert on these things, but it seemed to me, the less said the better. A few minutes later, we were alone again. More giggling.

We wandered around a bit more. There were some small illustrations inside – it was a museum, of course. I remember this time clearly. Dusk turning to dark and time was running out. We were somewhere between making the moment last and putting off the moment of truth. One of those rare instances where you are calm and nervous at the same time.

I spotted my boss over her shoulder. He saw me, smiled and saluted good night. Regardless of how the next moment went, it was a good night.

We reached the door, carried along by the crowd gently streaming for the exit. Washed outside, I asked for her number. This in fact was not the moment of truth, as the truth would not reveal itself for several more days.

To my surprise, the number was real.

And that is how I met the love of my life.