Jerry Jones Jr. is gonna get hitched in September. So who's gonna wear the Rowdy costume during the honeymoon?

Lemon Into Lemonade

Cross one of the metroplex's most desirable bachelors off your list. Unless you're Bedford-bred Lori Lemon, Jerry Jones Jr. is now officially unavailable. According to extremely reliable sources, the 36-year-old heir to the Dallas Cowboys throne and the former Olympic-caliber equestrian rider are scheduled to get married Septemer 23 in the posh province of Portofino, Italy. For those of us who got hitched in an "I'm With Stupid" T-shirt by the justice of the peace, Portofino is a little slice of paradise on the Italian Riviera, just up the coast from George Clooney's majestic Lake Como spread. Maybe you've never heard of it. But certainly you're familiar with Jones, the youngest son of Cowboys owner Jerry Jones.

Seems the SMU-educated prince met his horse-lovin' princess last fall and kick-started their relationship at, of all places, a Dallas Desperados game. But no, she wasn't originally one of these. Lemon, 36, has been checking out houses in the $10 million price range along Highland Park's Beverly Drive--ya know, just like you do. The official engagement party is Saturday night at the digs of Jones' cousin, Jerry Moody. The bachelor party--should be a painfully mundane affair, doncha think?--will be September 15-16 in a little town west of here called Las Vegas. The wedding, conveniently, is planned during the Cowboys' bye weekend.

Full disclosure: Hard as it is to fathom, there was a time last millennium when I ran in the same separate social circles with both Jones and Lemon. Lemon once officed with a mutual chiropractor friend in Las Colinas. And I once spent a particularly entertaining night with Jones at a Tokyo rave during a Cowboys preseason visit to Japan in 1992. With a hearty hunger that can only be cultivated from a night of slam-dancing with the locals, Jones and I wandered the pre-dawn streets before euphorically stumbling upon this burger joint and splitting a slice of wonderfully greasy Americana. We would wish the soon-to-be-newlyweds luck. But something tells me they won't need it. --Richie Whitt

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