The Beginning of Time: How we met
We met while I was in high school. He was one of my brother's friends. We hated each others guts. This is how every love story starts, right?
To avoid sugar-coating the facts, he would get drunk and wrestle me in the living room. Yeah, big tough guy. You can wrestle a 110 lb girl down to the ground. WWE would love to recruit YOU.
Fast forward two years. It's Halloween. I've matured and Mr. Margarita has too (more or less. Men never grow up). Now, instead of hog-ties in the living room, it's deep conversations on the patio. He confesses how he has always loved me but has never been able to bring the words to his lips. He says he has been reciting this speech over and over to himself for years, but has been waiting for the right moment. Unfortunately, although his gut told him the moment was right, I had recently gotten out of a bad relationship. I told him I was sorry but was not ready. He tried to kiss me that night and I turned my head...that night, an itch surfaced in the depths of my brain...the "What if..." itch.
Fast forward to Valentine's Day. The itch remains. Every time we see each other, he persists. I want to scratch that itch but know that I'm not ready yet. Finally he asks if I want to go on a double Valentine's date with my brother and his girlfriend. I reluctantly agree. He is an hour late to pick me up. Men. We all go to some Tex-Mex restaurant and then head to my brothers for margaritas. And that night, he gave the speech again. And I scratched the itch.
We kept our relationship secret for almost a year, because he was not just my brother's friend, he was one of my parent's friends, too. We never really announced our relationship together. I was talking to my mom on the back porch when I blurted out, "Mr. Margarita and I are dating." And she replied, "Yeah, I know. Took you long enough to say something." Mother's intuition never fails.
To avoid sugar-coating the facts, he would get drunk and wrestle me in the living room. Yeah, big tough guy. You can wrestle a 110 lb girl down to the ground. WWE would love to recruit YOU.
Fast forward two years. It's Halloween. I've matured and Mr. Margarita has too (more or less. Men never grow up). Now, instead of hog-ties in the living room, it's deep conversations on the patio. He confesses how he has always loved me but has never been able to bring the words to his lips. He says he has been reciting this speech over and over to himself for years, but has been waiting for the right moment. Unfortunately, although his gut told him the moment was right, I had recently gotten out of a bad relationship. I told him I was sorry but was not ready. He tried to kiss me that night and I turned my head...that night, an itch surfaced in the depths of my brain...the "What if..." itch.
Fast forward to Valentine's Day. The itch remains. Every time we see each other, he persists. I want to scratch that itch but know that I'm not ready yet. Finally he asks if I want to go on a double Valentine's date with my brother and his girlfriend. I reluctantly agree. He is an hour late to pick me up. Men. We all go to some Tex-Mex restaurant and then head to my brothers for margaritas. And that night, he gave the speech again. And I scratched the itch.
We kept our relationship secret for almost a year, because he was not just my brother's friend, he was one of my parent's friends, too. We never really announced our relationship together. I was talking to my mom on the back porch when I blurted out, "Mr. Margarita and I are dating." And she replied, "Yeah, I know. Took you long enough to say something." Mother's intuition never fails.
The Ice Age: How we got engaged
So he actually proposed twice. Yes, twice. You'll see why.
The first time. I was on vacation with my parents in Port Aransas. He couldn't wiggle his way out of work that week, so he stayed in Austin. We kept in touch mostly via texts because my phone carrier did not allow you to use your phone while roaming and all I had was my parents pre-paid POS. It was June 18th, 2009. Around midnight. I'll never forget how I was sitting on the balcony, listening to the sounds of the Gulf, and reading the words: "I've been thinking about something for a while now...Miss Margarita, will you marry me?" I thought it was a joke. He had even misspelled my last name. I wrote back Yes after texting back and forth for half an hour and realizing that, yes, he meant it. When I got back, he presented me with an heirloom ring. It was four sizes too big. And one of the most annoying traits that this man has is his amazing procrastination skills...
As you can see, a new proposal was due. I needed a ring that fit and he needed to pop the question.
The second time. It was November 2010. We had just moved in to our new apartment together the day before. I was not looking forward to going home. It had been a tough day at work and unpacking was not my ideal method of relaxing. I dragged my feet as I walked from my car to the front door. I took my time fumbling though my keyring. I opened the door, expecting to see a mountain of boxes. Instead, I see Cesar. On one knee. Holding a little white box. And he uttered the words that I had been longing to hear for over a year..."Ms. Margarita, will you marry me?" I dropped to my knees and kissed him and muttered "Yes" (what, did you expect a "no"? By this time, I had already begun planning the wedding!). He opened the box and slipped the ring on my finger, this time only one size too big. (Yes, it took him that long to get it resized and yes, he told the jeweler I was a size 6. I distinctly told him several times my ring size is 4 3/4). We took it to the jeweler to get a ring guard since we couldn't afford another sizing. And that was when I truly felt engaged.
The first time. I was on vacation with my parents in Port Aransas. He couldn't wiggle his way out of work that week, so he stayed in Austin. We kept in touch mostly via texts because my phone carrier did not allow you to use your phone while roaming and all I had was my parents pre-paid POS. It was June 18th, 2009. Around midnight. I'll never forget how I was sitting on the balcony, listening to the sounds of the Gulf, and reading the words: "I've been thinking about something for a while now...Miss Margarita, will you marry me?" I thought it was a joke. He had even misspelled my last name. I wrote back Yes after texting back and forth for half an hour and realizing that, yes, he meant it. When I got back, he presented me with an heirloom ring. It was four sizes too big. And one of the most annoying traits that this man has is his amazing procrastination skills...
As you can see, a new proposal was due. I needed a ring that fit and he needed to pop the question.
The second time. It was November 2010. We had just moved in to our new apartment together the day before. I was not looking forward to going home. It had been a tough day at work and unpacking was not my ideal method of relaxing. I dragged my feet as I walked from my car to the front door. I took my time fumbling though my keyring. I opened the door, expecting to see a mountain of boxes. Instead, I see Cesar. On one knee. Holding a little white box. And he uttered the words that I had been longing to hear for over a year..."Ms. Margarita, will you marry me?" I dropped to my knees and kissed him and muttered "Yes" (what, did you expect a "no"? By this time, I had already begun planning the wedding!). He opened the box and slipped the ring on my finger, this time only one size too big. (Yes, it took him that long to get it resized and yes, he told the jeweler I was a size 6. I distinctly told him several times my ring size is 4 3/4). We took it to the jeweler to get a ring guard since we couldn't afford another sizing. And that was when I truly felt engaged.