I like that story, Bert. It has the ring of authenticity.

In my case, I met my wife-to-be while filming an art nouveau/western in Durango, Mexico last year. I had been hired to play the part of a career bandido who has experienced a spiritual epiphany and has decided to spend the rest of his life emulating Johhny Depp characters. I was attempting to mount a rather uncooperative little mustang for the bank robbery scene, which involved about 75 Mexican extras, including a woman with the most striking dark eyes and a blood-red bandana. Her name was Elena, but most people on the set called her "rojo" for some reason. (It means "red".) She was not a redhead, but she did wear the red bandana much of the time, and seemed to be the fiery sort.

With a struggle and a flourish of my poncho I finally managed to mount the horse, but my troubles were not over, because the little bastard decided to bolt at that moment, leaping over a fence and scattering the loungers and street kids who were watching. Several people cheered enthusiastically as I frantically attempted to stay in the saddle. The mariachis played furiously on their guitars, humming like a hive of angry bees! In the next few seconds I and the horse covered a surprising amount of ground, managing to upset 3 cameras, a taco seller's wagon, and about 50 paintings of Elvis and the Virgin of Guadeloupe that someone was selling to tourists. Then I became airborne.

Time seemed to stand still. I considered the possibility that I might in fact NEVER get to date Winona Ryder and that George Bush might possibly change the Constitution and get appointed President-for-life...I counted 758 spines on a large cactus that was passing by on my left...I remembered that in 1966 I had hidden a gold locket behind some books on a shelf in the house that my parents sold in 1969...which house has since been turned into a shrine, due to the fact that an image of the Virgin Mary appeared on a pancake there.

Then everything went black. Presently I heard what seemed to be some sort of heavenly music. I slowly opened my eyes and looked up into Elena's face. She gazed at me with a steady and solemn look and spoke, in dulcet tones. Her voice was deep and very calm.

"You came to Mexico for a reason," she said. "You came for me."

We plan to marry in September. I am going to place roses on the grave of Emiliano Zapata. A man must never be afraid to face his true destiny.