STRANGER THAN FICTION: MIND GAMES: WAS IT ME OR YOU WHO THOUGHT OF THAT?

It's like he's playing mind games with a child, except I'm 28 years old.

The Other Half is starting to play a little game with me.

It's called "This Is What You Really Wanted." All you need to begin playing is two people. One of them wants to do one thing, the other wants to do something else.

For example, I wanted to see "City of Angels" at the movies a couple weekends ago and told Mr. Half. We got into the car a few hours later and headed for the theater.

"The critics really loved 'City of Angels,'" I said. "They said the Cage and Ryan combination was pretty powerful."

He looked confused. "Sweetie, you said you wanted to see 'Lost in Space.'"

OK, let's stop right here. I never said I wanted to see "Lost in Space." Weeks ago, HE'D said he wanted to see "Lost in Space." But instead of just admitting that he'd rather see it, he tried some kind of bizarre reverse psychology game on me.

What's up with that? He's tried it about 100 times before with everything from going dancing ("Sweetie, you said you wanted to stay home and watch professional wrestling") to eating out ("Sweetie, you said you were cooking chicken fingers). But I've never once said, "Oh, THAT'S right. I wanted to stay home and cook for you instead of being waited on hand and foot by a professional staff."

It's like being six years old again and having your mother say, "But Honey, you like liver and onions. Remember?"

At least I know I'm not the first victim. This little game has been played for a long time.

Take my friend Bonnie at the newspaper. She and her husband were just boyfriend and girlfriend in the late 60s. They went to the movies almost every weekend, and he always picked. Being a young woman in love, she never objected.

But one weekend, the guy decided Bonnie should pick.

"OK," she said. "Let's see 'Dr. Zhivago.'"

He was quiet for a moment. "I thought you wanted to see 'Planet of the Apes.'"

A far more demoralizing version of the game recently emerged in my household. It's called "Transference of Guilt." That's played when the male part of the couple does something incredibly stupid but doesn't want to take the fall.

For example, I was heading off to a weekend with the girls. In the parking lot, as we loaded into the car, I reached into my purse, handed Mr. Half a $50 expense check from work and asked him to put it into the bank. He nodded and took it.

I came home Sunday night. "Did you get that check in the bank?" I asked.

"You didn't give me a check," he said.

"Sweetie, I handed you that expense check right before I left," I said.

"Well, I don't remember that," he said. "Maybe you lost it."

Well, I didn't THINK I was that dumb, but maybe I HAD lost it! I tore the apartment apart looking for the check while he settled down in front of a basketball game. Finally, after about 30 minutes of watching me fly around breaking my resolution to curse less, he looked over with puppy dog eyes.

"Sweetie," he said. "I don't know if this is just the power of suggestion, but I think I might have taken the check from you and put it on the table, but later cleaned off the table and threw it in the trash.

And then I took the trash out to the big container for the whole apartment complex."

That led to a third game, "Trash Diving for Dollars." We never found the check.

But at least I learned something valuable that I can pass on. Here are some things your man might say if he's playing Transference of Guilt with you:

"Why did you give it to me anyway?"

"What were you doing with your hand near my car door?"

"You know I'm not quite awake at that time, so why did you pick then to tell me when to turn off the oven?"

"How was I supposed to know?"

And now, for the coveted Idjit Award:

Don't you hate saving seats for people? It's so third grade. But this woman walked up to a table near my group in a crowded first come, first served cafe. She had her hair done in that newly popular yet totally awful white-girl, Rasta-wannabe matted style.

"Save this table," she ordered. "I'll be right back. Thanks."

Being a nice person, my buddy Tonya slid into the table. She sat there for about 15 minutes before finally relinquishing it to another person. The girl never came back.

Never trust a person who's been taking fashion tips from her Raggedy Ann doll.

~Heidi Nieland is a former staff writer for the Southeast Missourian who now lives in Pensacola, Fla.