I was so busy thinking through the question and composing an answer on the other thread that I didn't see that Jerry had created a new one. So sorry, y'all, that the first paragraph is a repeat that probably doesn't deserve an encore edition.

I met and married my first husband in first grade. The solemn ceremony took place on the sidewalk under a flowering cherry tree. I wore my best white dotted swiss dress and patent leather mary janes. A doll presided, and our combined collection of teddy bears acted as witnesses.

Eighteen years later I was working as a cook in a hotel in Switzerland. I was in the main elevator in my chef's whites, hairnet, sensible shoes and huge apron smeared with tomato sauce when the other occupant started talking to me. We chatted casually for about 10 minutes. The next day he showed up during my break, ushered me out to the veranda with a sweeping view of the Alps and proposed, bended knee, ring and all. I told him he was out of his mind and never to speak to me again. Six months after that...

Neither marriage lasted, but I am still friends with my first grade hubby.

M.