- Spanish Lace
- 8 years ago
- Wedding: May 2014
I’m trying to decide if this is too long for the story of how we met on our wedding web page. Fiance has written his side, and it’s almost as long. We’re going to have two different pages “How We Met – Her Story” and “How We Met – His Story”. I’m sure none of you actually want to read the whole thing, (you’re more than welcome to if you want, though!), but if you could take into account that most of our closest friends and family are spread out all over the country, and weren’t (and still aren’t) around for the beginning of our relationship, do you think they would want to read all of this?
In early 2010 when I was interning at Bernhardt Winery (in Plantersville, TX – it’s a great little place, and if you haven’t visited you should! Ok, shameless plugging over. Promise.), a girl friend asked if I could put together a wine tasting for an event being hosted at school by another student. I’ve never been the type not to help others in their wine drinking endeavors, so I spoke with the Bernhardts about hosting a tasting and they agreed. I packed up two cases of what I think are their most interesting wines (I lied, more plugging – I picked Pinelli and Crimson, two of the Bernhardt proprietary blends that are just delicious!) and headed to the Hilton College.
I was aware that some sort of Iron Chef something-or-another was going on, and that the organizer was a student at the Hilton College, but I was really only there to promote Bernhardt and spend some time catching up with the friend who had asked me help out, as we’d both been really busy and it seemed a “working” play date was the only way we could catch up. Once the Iron Chef thing started, the wine tasting slowed down considerably and my friend and I got down to business. First up for discussion, boys (what else, right ladies?). My friend proceeded to tell me about this pretentious, stuck-up, womanizing jerk that had been trying to ask her out for a while. We laughed together at how silly he was, thinking he had a shot in hell with her, and felt sorry for the poor boy who clearly did not know his place in the greater social order. I asked her for his name, so I could avoid any similar encounters, and she said, “Mr. Lace.”
Fast forward to December 2010, I’m drowning in final exam reviews and deadlines for Gourmet Night (our college’s 300+ guest, $250 a plate, completely student run and organized fundraising dinner) trying to get things to print in the computer lab. This guy in superhero pajama pants asks me about my UCF sweatshirt, and, having been asked multiple times about the hospitality program at UCF because of my refusal to purchase any UH paraphernalia, I answer him with my typical spiel. I reassure him that yes, he did make the right choice attending the Hilton College, and no, the degree he is about to receive would not have been better had he earned it at UCF. Then I return to my work, and immediately completely forget about the conversation. Until I receive a facebook friend request from the guy in the computer lab – “Mr. Lace would like to add you as a friend on facebook.”
I accepted the request, because I’m not a mean and terrible person, but that was the end of it.
It’s now September of 2011 and I’m planning a huge back to school bash. Obviously, the most important ingredient of any college party is alcohol, so I considered priority #1 to make sure I got it right. I can manage to put together a pretty complete bar set-up in my sleep (thanks mom, for years and years of training during the pre-Christmas party Spec’s runs), but I’m not a beer expert by any means. I was on facebook chatting with a couple of my guy friends about what kind and how much beer I should buy, and decided a random 3rd party poll would be the best way to make my final decision. Mr. Lace was online at the time, so I copy and pasted him the same question I sent to about 15 other guys. He was the only that responded with a reason for his choice. The conversation continued as a I asked him a few more questions about setting up a keg (a quick facebook creep revealed he was from College Station, so I assumed he must know all things keg-related) and what my options were price and size-wise. He had an answer for everything! I realize I could have googled these things, but he had all the answers, why do more work than I needed to? Of course, I invited him to the party and made special mention of (bridesmaid) Friend #1, who I thought might feel out of place since most of the guests would be friends of mine from school who she had never met.
Mr. Lace came to the party early, before the craziness started, and was nice enough to bring some Jarritos Mandarin (Mexican soda). No one else knew what it was, but I appreciated it, and before I switched to tequila shots (yes, it was that kind of night) I downed my fair share or Jarritos + Tito’s. As I was roaming the house making sure everyone had a good time and re-stocking food, I noticed Mr. Lace in the kitchen talking to Friend #1 and her sister. Thirty minutes later, I noticed Mr. Lace was still in the kitchen talking to Friend #1 and her sister. I went over to see how things were going, and the four of us had a fun conversation before Mr. Lace said his (incredibly early) goodbyes. The second Mr. Lace left the room, Friend #1 was raving about Mr. Lace. “Why don’t you ever cook for us Bailey, Mr. Lace says he took cooking classes at school,” and “Mr. Lace’s really smart, how exactly do you know him?” Her sister even threw in a “He’s funny, I like him!” I silenced them by fixing us another round of drinks and changing the subject to the guy I was currently “seeing”.
The next week, LSU was playing against Mississippi State on Thursday (because really, who would waste time watching Mississppi State play on a Saturday) and I was trying to get friends together to watch the game. Mr. Lace was one of the few who obliged my sick and twisted obsession with LSU football (although, I think he’s currently reconsidering that decision) and came out to watch the game. LSU won (and would go on to be undefeated in the regular season that year, for the first time since 1958, and would have claimed another had it not been for Sat…Saban), so of course, I got drunk. The night progressed and Mr. Lace and I had several conversations at several bars, some of which were apparently quite interesting. The only one I remember is the one in which I asked him to re-tie the bow on my dress, and he did it so perfectly I secretly questioned if he was gay (which is not remotely unheard of in our industry). We ended the night at one of my all-time favorite Mexican restaurants, Spanish Flower. When it was time to go home, I remember trying to weasel my way into a “ride home” with Mr. Lace, but, as he is obviously the one with more self-control between the two of us, he arranged for a mutual friend to get me home safe and sound.
Before the night got hazy, I had asked Mr. Lace to come out to dinner on Friday and help show my friend who would be visiting from Baton Rouge, Friend #2, a good time. I happened to think this was a brilliant idea because I was certain Friend #2 and Mr. Lace were perfect for each other (apparently, in my mind, a mutual need for glasses and love of finance/accounting equates to true love). Things were going quite well, and Mr. Lace and Friend #2 were getting along, talking up a storm. At the end of the night, I dropped Friend #2 off and went out to an “after-party” of sorts to meet up with Mr. Lace and a few other friends. Mr. Lace arrived at the same time I did and politely waited for me to get out of my car to walk me in. I was taking my sweet time in the car though, because Lady Gaga’s You and I was playing on the radio and it was my all-time favorite song at the time. Mr. Lace had walked up next to car by the time I finally pulled myself away from the radio, and as I got out, he stopped me in my tracks and kissed me. I won’t go into sappy detail, but it was definitely one of those weak-in-the-knees kisses.
The next day, Friend #2 had a family event come up, and had to leave Houston earlier than we planned. Unfortunately, that meant we had to cancel plans we had made with Mr. Lace to see the Lion King in 3D. I explained the situation to Mr. Lace, who suggested that he and I go see the movie anyway. Despite the events of the previous evening, I felt it necessary to tell Mr. Lace that I was talking to another guy and did not feel right about going to see a movie with him. He said he understood, but that it would be great if we could be friends anyway. I said of course, but that we probably would not be the kind of friends who hang out one-on-one.
A month passed, life changed, and I found myself working a wine tasting event at the same shopping center where Friend #2 and I were supposed to have seen the Lion King with Mr. Lace. My mother happened to be hosting one of her infamous “wine-thirty” dinner parties that evening, and I knew I would be done working the tasting before the party ended. Remembering that I owed Mr. Lace a movie, and knowing I did not want to come home toward the end of one of those parties, I asked if he would like to meet me when I got done with the tasting. My intentions were simply to make up for the movie I had missed seeing with him before, and to apologize for being such a bad new friend; but somewhere between the opening credits of Footloose (I should have realized his intentions for the evening the second he agreed to see that movie) and Mr. Lace walking me to my car, it occurred to me that the evening might have been slightly more special than the typical “two friends go to the movies” night. Mr. Lace was a gentleman, and gave me a sweet kiss goodnight, but I was still unsure of how I felt.
I decided the best way to figure things out was to invite him to a wine tasting event the next day.
Except, the next day was originally supposed to be the day I drove to Austin for (made of honor) Friend #3’s 25th birthday party. I had had to cancel because of a recent eye surgery that prevented me from driving long distances and in the dark. The gears in my devious head started turning, and by 11am I called Mr. Lace and asked, “How do you feel about going to Austin instead of a wine tasting?” I explained the situation, and Mr. Lace instantly agreed. In less than two hours we were on the road to surprise Friend #3. The entire evening was great, my friends obviously liked Mr. Lace, and Mr. Lace was getting along great with all of my friends.
Even still, the next day I woke up wondering what I was doing. I had decided before my last year of college that I was going to focus on myself, getting ready for the “real world” and finding a career. Something about Mr. Lace just was not sitting right with me. So of course, I did what any girl would do and locked myself in the hotel bathroom with my two best friends to talk it out. Unfortunately, three hungry boys started complaining about getting brunch and checking out of the room on time before we could make any substantial decisions about my dilemma.
After brunch, Mr. Lace and I headed back to Houston. Still unsure of how I felt, the conversation in the car was a little tense at first. It turned to high school memories, and we discovered we were both incredibly active in theatre. This lead to a discussion of our mutual experiences with the Disney College Program. Before Bastrop, I had learned that Mr. Lace and I were both only children, both very active in Boy Scouts/Girl Scouts as children, both involved in theatre, both disillusioned with Disney, both interested in the more creative sides of hospitality, both spoke Spanish and had particularly fond memories of Mexico, and we both wanted to move out of Houston eventually. By the time we hit the Beltway, there was an ounce of uncertainty left. Mr. Lace asked if I wanted to come over for dinner, and I agreed instantly. The rest, they say, is history…