Dating apps introduced our sons to their wives. Serendipty came through for me and my husband.
I lived in New York City.
Hopped a train to Providence for a friend’s party.
Like about 100 others, Alex was invited, too.
We started talking at 10 pm. Conversation ended, reluctantly, at 4.
Guess you could say we hit it off.
Providence proved an apt name for a meeting place.
Other than that one person, Alex and I had no one and no place in common.
If we hadn’t met at that party, it’s hard to see how we ever would have.
One day, we discovered that he was born on the 11th of the month; I on the 22nd.
Neither of us believes in magical thinking. We don’t do numerology, astrology, tarot cards, or the I’ching.
Once, at a slumber party, friends banished me upstairs (with the M&Ms) because I couldn’t stop laughing during an attempted seance.
There’s nothing to make of that odd, semi-symmetry in our birth dates. Life is a series of coincidences.
The actual date of your birth within a month is meaningless.
I don’t think about it, except when filling out forms.
But sometimes, those dates seem like fate giving us a wink. Like a guy at a party in Providence.
For April 22, write a party with some kind of double within it.