Their hands broke her. She couldn’t resist a pair of pretty hands. She preferred callouses, clean fingernails, nice bones, slim wrists and a firm, dry handshake. Substantial, confident hands. If they could two-step so much the better. She hung out at Broncos, a country bar in Gretna, Louisiana. She was from Texas. She had a tattoo on the inside of her thigh, “Texas gals kick ass.” Her ex-husband convinced her to get it one night when they were drinking in Michigan. He used to say that to her after she had her way with him, “Honey, you kicked my ass.” If only she’d known the explaining she’d have to do in the future, after the divorce. He didn’t have pretty hands.
Thanks very much to Old Jules for providing inspiration.