My husband and I just celebrated our second anniversary. To be fair to myself, I didn't actually lie on the floor and kick and scream until my face turned blue. I did, however, break a promise to him. "We're going over to the East Side to watch the fireworks," he had said. "This is a friend borrowing a banker's pied-à-terre, so you have to promise me that you won't throw a fit out of real estate envy." "I promise," I had said. And of course I lied like a dog, because who wouldn't have been jealous of two-and-a-half baths, a wrap terrace, and so many closets that the occupants could obviously choose which stuff of theirs they wanted to look at? So I came home and sulked; at 1,300 square feet (more than twice what we live in) the apartment seemed huge. It was certainly not large enough for a family with multiple children but it would have done nicely for us. I calculated in my brain: if it costs $10,000 a month, that's $120,000 a year, so hubby and I would only have to make $450,0...
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