It’s playful and I get to hold her hand.
There’s always a point in the conversation where I transition into personal topics.
“What do you do?” I ask her.
“No–wait,” I say. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess.”
I look her up and down.
“I’m really good at this. I’m actually psychic. Here, give me your hand.”
I take her hand in mine.
“Okay, try to psychically send it to me.”
I look deep into her eyes.
“Stop thinking dirty thoughts. Keep it clean.”
Keep looking deep into her eyes.
“Oh, okay,” I say as I throw her hand away.
“You’re a juggler in an all-girl juggling troupe,” I say.
Sometimes she’ll play along and say I’m right. More often, she’ll say no. Or no, but close.
“Are you sure?” I’ll ask. “You just want me to hold your hand again, don’t you? Okay, give me your hand.”
I do it again. I’ll take another guess. Sometimes this guess will be a more sincere guess.
When and if I get it wrong again, I usually say something like, “My psychic powers are failing me!”
“Okay, what do you do? You’re not going to make me keep guessing, are you?”