One of the first instances of Hanky Panky’s practical jokes on me happened after we had only known each other a few months.  He loved putting me in awkward positions and watching me squirm.  Hank was a frustrated football player and used to play with a bunch of friends and business associates every week.

One of his favorite practice things to do was surprise tackle me.  I never knew where or when he was coming at me.  It could be in the living room, in the bedroom, on my way down the hallway, anywhere.  He would laugh his head off and tell me I should be more aware of my surroundings because some rapist could grab me if he didn’t keep me on guard.  I could be walking out of the bathroom and bang, down I’d go, and ‘gotcha’ he’d say, giggling at my lack of awareness once more.   I knew it was all in fun, but I started thinking up ways to get revenge, in fun.

We also socialized with these people that he played ball with, so I was obligated, in my mind, to behave as he led me while in their company.

It was at one of the Saturday night parties that something really interesting happened. He and I didn’t drink, yet everyone else did.  It was sort of fun to watch some of them get slobbered and drive them home.  People are so gullible when they imbibe.  In any case, he decided one night to make it more interesting and told everyone that I was a psychic and could read palms.  He winked at me and I was silly enough to go along, after all who could it hurt.  They started coming over to me and I looked them over and made up some generalized junk they wanted hear about themselves and what they would have happen in the future.  I was blatantly lying my head off.  Yet, I don’t wonder that some of the celebrity weirdo pseudo psychics do no less.  I was inundated with palms all night and read as many as I could until I was bored and faked a weak spell of depletion.  Hank giggled galore proving these people were suckers and he could sell them anything. I was biding my time with him.

He was a good worker though, every day he’d get up at six am to get to work and give his face a quick wash, use the toilet and jump into his shoes waiting at the door for him, in his hurry to get to the car.  It was a good consistent habit. He ate breakfast out and I could sleep in and he would be gone when I woke up.

It just so happened that we had a friendly girly penny ante poker game on Monday nights, we would exchange stories about our men.  I told them about Hank and they insisted I get even, so I did.  One morning when he jumped into those shoes, the shoe strings were tied together and he hit the wall…oh I guess girls will be girls.