meet a small-town girl like us. Dani laughed so hard the strawberry Yoo-hoo she was sipping on came out of her nose. I knew exactly how Hank felt. Well, almost.
“What a stupe,” Dani said, unable to stop giggling. “Let’s mess with him a little.”
And thus we came to Rule #3 , which was to be the rule that changed our aimless pranking into The Game: Use the info you get from rule number two to make them do your bidding or simply to mess with their heads . We decided to make Tabitha’s life somewhat similar to our Algebra teacher, Ms. Oliff’s, with some small adjustments. Like her being cool, for one.
Us: I’m twenty-five and there’s not a soul in this crappy little nowhere burg to date. Everyone’s either a kid or a geezer. I’m bored most of the time. Sometimes I sit up all night flipping through the Sears catalog and fantasizing about the men in the thermal underwear section.
Hank: I know the feeling. Even though I’m in a big city and there’s lots to do, I don’t have anyone to go out and do stuff with, so I end up at home most of the time. Sometimes I fantasize with magazines too.
“I bet you do, big boy,” Dani said, snickering. “Probably spends all night in the bathroom with a copy of
Juggs
.”
I considered pointing out she’d often done the same. Dani was fascinated by
Juggs
magazine. She even talked me into buying a copy from the Texaco station the summer before, and we spent an evening scrutinizing the various boobs on display, discussing theirdesign flaws. Six months later I discovered the magazine in her closet, tucked under her sweaters, even though she’d made a big production of throwing it away in disgust the same night we bought it. It looked wrinkled and well read. Some of the pages were marked with dog-ears and had handwritten notes like
my boobs would look like this if they were a cup size bigger
.
“I think we need to spice it up some,” she said. “This is boring the hell out of me. I think the problem here is he’s a loser. I don’t believe I want to know his darkest secrets.”
She sat down, scootched me out of the chair and set to typing.
Us: That sounds pretty pathetic. You live in one of the biggest cities in America with lots of cool nightclubs and places to go. It’s not your imagination. Those women
are
laughing at you!
Hank wrote back that we were a nut-cutting, ball-busting bitch and then put a block on our name and stopped sending messages. We laughed.
“What the hell is a nut-cutter?” Dani asked.
“You,” I said.
Rule #4
D on’t get played .
The Bad, The Badder,
and The Ugly
H ere are my mom’s five ADD (After Dad Disappeared) boyfriends in the order they showed up:
1. Roy—This guy came into the emergency room one Sunday afternoon after an engine he was working on cracked the tree branch holding it up and broke five bones in his foot. He and my mom were only together for three months. I have no idea why it ended and I wasn’t about to ask.
2. Joe Carey—I was never supposed to know about this one because he was married. Joe Carey was an insurance salesman. He came into the emergency room on a rainy Wednesday evening after slicing open his palm with a broken wine bottle, wearing a disposable diaper wrapped around his hand. He got seventeen stitches and my mom for about six months.
3. Keith—My mom discovered Keith rolling around and groaning on the floor of the emergency room one evening after he’d gobbled an enormous Mexican buffet dinner. He thought he was having a heart attack but was actually only suffering from heartburn. Three months later she told me not to mention his name again, explaining, “He’s king of the rat bastards. I’ll never eat a summer squash again.” (I didn’t ask.)
4. Duane—One day in November after school, there he was, sprawled out on the sofa drinking beer and looking at anafternoon talk show. He had short black hair with a streak of gray above his left ear and eyes the color of rain
“What a stupe,” Dani said, unable to stop giggling. “Let’s mess with him a little.”
And thus we came to Rule #3 , which was to be the rule that changed our aimless pranking into The Game: Use the info you get from rule number two to make them do your bidding or simply to mess with their heads . We decided to make Tabitha’s life somewhat similar to our Algebra teacher, Ms. Oliff’s, with some small adjustments. Like her being cool, for one.
Us: I’m twenty-five and there’s not a soul in this crappy little nowhere burg to date. Everyone’s either a kid or a geezer. I’m bored most of the time. Sometimes I sit up all night flipping through the Sears catalog and fantasizing about the men in the thermal underwear section.
Hank: I know the feeling. Even though I’m in a big city and there’s lots to do, I don’t have anyone to go out and do stuff with, so I end up at home most of the time. Sometimes I fantasize with magazines too.
“I bet you do, big boy,” Dani said, snickering. “Probably spends all night in the bathroom with a copy of
Juggs
.”
I considered pointing out she’d often done the same. Dani was fascinated by
Juggs
magazine. She even talked me into buying a copy from the Texaco station the summer before, and we spent an evening scrutinizing the various boobs on display, discussing theirdesign flaws. Six months later I discovered the magazine in her closet, tucked under her sweaters, even though she’d made a big production of throwing it away in disgust the same night we bought it. It looked wrinkled and well read. Some of the pages were marked with dog-ears and had handwritten notes like
my boobs would look like this if they were a cup size bigger
.
“I think we need to spice it up some,” she said. “This is boring the hell out of me. I think the problem here is he’s a loser. I don’t believe I want to know his darkest secrets.”
She sat down, scootched me out of the chair and set to typing.
Us: That sounds pretty pathetic. You live in one of the biggest cities in America with lots of cool nightclubs and places to go. It’s not your imagination. Those women
are
laughing at you!
Hank wrote back that we were a nut-cutting, ball-busting bitch and then put a block on our name and stopped sending messages. We laughed.
“What the hell is a nut-cutter?” Dani asked.
“You,” I said.
Rule #4
D on’t get played .
The Bad, The Badder,
and The Ugly
H ere are my mom’s five ADD (After Dad Disappeared) boyfriends in the order they showed up:
1. Roy—This guy came into the emergency room one Sunday afternoon after an engine he was working on cracked the tree branch holding it up and broke five bones in his foot. He and my mom were only together for three months. I have no idea why it ended and I wasn’t about to ask.
2. Joe Carey—I was never supposed to know about this one because he was married. Joe Carey was an insurance salesman. He came into the emergency room on a rainy Wednesday evening after slicing open his palm with a broken wine bottle, wearing a disposable diaper wrapped around his hand. He got seventeen stitches and my mom for about six months.
3. Keith—My mom discovered Keith rolling around and groaning on the floor of the emergency room one evening after he’d gobbled an enormous Mexican buffet dinner. He thought he was having a heart attack but was actually only suffering from heartburn. Three months later she told me not to mention his name again, explaining, “He’s king of the rat bastards. I’ll never eat a summer squash again.” (I didn’t ask.)
4. Duane—One day in November after school, there he was, sprawled out on the sofa drinking beer and looking at anafternoon talk show. He had short black hair with a streak of gray above his left ear and eyes the color of rain
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