It was late 2006, and I was holding court at the head of the table at the Hyde Club on Sunset Boulevard, hand-making the best margaritas on the planet when I saw her. My mom's voice began echoing in my head, “This is not your average woman you wave over from across the bar, son. Get your ass up, and go introduce yourself.” After introducing myself, I escorted Camila to the bar where I made the best margarita I’d ever made, and I spoke Spanish better than I’d ever spoken it. The only caveat was that she spoke Portuguese because she’s Brazilian… but the rhythms of the Latin languages seemed to fit the meter. Despite my uncultured errors, I successfully got a date with her (after trying and failing twice), and almost two decades later, she’s still the only woman I’ve ever wanted to make a margarita for. And that, my friends, is how it all started - with a twist of tequila fate.