Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Dungeons & Dragons (12 page)

“Asmodeus is believed to be the prince of lust,” I told her. “Wear him with care.”

A few days later I found Bart tearing around his bedroom. His dog, Sadie, was following anxiously behind him like a novice cop who just spotted her first perpetrator and kind of wished she hadn't.

“Did you by chance borrow one of my T-shirts?” he asked.

“You're confusing Sadie. She thinks some guy in a ‘Daddy' costume is breaking into her daddy's house.”

“I just saw it.…”

“I'm sure you have another shirt you can wear,” I said. “Like the one you have on, for instance.”

He sniffs it and dismisses it. “I want to wear my Asmodeus shirt. Ernie will love it.”

“I'm sure Ernie will love your Chicago Bears shirt just as much. Or what about this perfectly good one from Banana Republic?”

He's undeterred and because I made the assumption he would never, ever miss that shirt and gave it to Jodi, we're going to be late. We're having
dinner with his friend Samantha from the Peace Corps and her husband, Ernie, tonight. I'm not sure where we're going—Bart made the plans—but I hope Jodi and an 11th-level paladin aren't there, too.

I haven't met Samantha or Ernie yet, but they're already convinced Bart and I are soul mates.

“She plays D&D?” Samantha wrote in an e-mail. “You're a perfect match!”

Sweet sentiment and maybe it's true, but that's not the only reason we're wellmatched. We both love books, and
The Office
, and cupcakes. We get cranky if we miss a workout and make up voices for our pets and … well, you get the idea. But I can see why Bart's friend would call out our mutual interest in Dungeons & Dragons. Bart is exceptionally passionate about D&D. He's been playing for years. It makes sense that couples that play D&D together should stay together because it's not just about having one thing in common—it's something people are incredibly invested in. Of course you'd want to share that with your significant other. (I'm still working on Bart's appreciation for
Tabatha's Salon Takeover.
Baby steps.)

“I love that you play D&D.” Bart said with the sincerity and sentimentality of someone saying, “I love that you are nice to animals” or “I love that you gave me a kidney.”

I suppose if you're going to spend an entire Saturday afternoon (possibly the evening, too) playing a game, it helps to have your partner sitting next to you. And playing D&D is a great insight into someone's character. I think instead of speed dating, people should do “swift encounters.” How that guy handles two armed guards with their backs to the party is very telling.

At the wedding of Bart's best friend from childhood this past year, I met the rest of his original adventuring party. For the wedding, Bart was asked to write a story that captured the essence of their friendship, which is a lot of pressure for one story. (The wedding was also on a ranch in the wilds of Idaho, which was a lot of pressure on a city slicker who lacks sensible shoes or anything made of fleece. But that's another story.) These guys go back nearly twenty-five years, so there's a lot of history there, but Bart's story focused on the hours spent playing D&D. After the wedding they waxed nostalgic about their favorite characters, the crawl space in Bart's hallway where they would hide out—with candles—so they could read the adventure and see the map. Bart's mom yelled upstairs every thirty minutes to make sure they were okay. Obviously she didn't know about the candles in the crawl space, and according to him she had no idea what they were doing other than playing some game that
required “make-believe.” It was better than the trouble they could get into outdoors.

Samantha's comment about us got me thinking about D&D and couples. Well, that and the e-mail I got from Judy.

This madness needs to stop.

“Absolutely,” one co-worker answered when I asked if playing D&D with his significant other strengthened their relationship. “D&D, and gaming in general, is a huge part of my life. It's not just the game itself that I love. It's the culture, the relationships, shopping for dice. The fact that we can share that together is hugely positive.”

That seemed to be the general consensus around the office, but then again, most of the people I asked aren't just working at Wizards because they need to pay the rent. They're here because it's their dream job. Anyone who would move across the country just to be near the same zip code as the company who publishes the game they love is probably surrounded by people who share that passion. But just to be fair I kept asking people until I found a rebuttal.

“It's actually better that she doesn't share my interest in gaming,” my friend Ben said. “Couples need to have their space. D&D is how I get away. It's my time with my friends.”

I get that. I love Bart and all but I don't want to look up from the carnage of a pillaged clearance end cap at Target to see his smiling face. No man should have to see the woman who might bear his children in that state.

Hmm, would Bart and I be a different couple, better or worse, if we didn't play D&D together?

I'm pondering just that when Jason from shipping drops by my desk with a box.

“Another care package from Mom,” he noted. It's the third package from Amazon this month.

“I'm becoming a better person,” I told him. “Notice anything different yet?”

“Tell her to send brownies so we can all experience a little enlightenment.”

It's true, Judy's brownies are so delectable, you'll have clean karma for lifetimes to come.

I read the back cover. Apparently this book had: “Found USA Dan a wife in just two weeks!” “Turned TJ's sour dating life around!” “Made Stormy Weather get in touch with his inner, romantic demons and realize he'd have to slay them. Eventually.”

Hmm … one might think someone who chooses the handle “Stormy Weather” might be beyond a few simple solutions to find Mr./Mrs. Right in Cyberspace. Jodi will never see this book. Instead it goes in the ever-growing to-be-read-if-I'm-ever-housebound-for-two-years-without-cable-television-or-shampoo-bottles-or-VCR-instruction-manuals- or anything-good-left-to-read pile.

A few days later, I got a call from Jodi that opened with, “I'm going to kill you.”

“That doesn't sound promising,” I said. Good thing we're on the phone and not standing at the top of a steep staircase.

“I wore that stupid lust-man shirt for my walk around Green Lake. Honestly, I didn't know it was the D&D one. I thought it was my bon jovi slippery when wet tour 1987 one.”

“Which is much cooler,” I interjected.

“But, oh well,” she continued. “A clean shirt is a clean shirt. Or so I thought.”

“Wait,” I stopped her. “Is this conversation going to end with ‘pick me up from the ER' or ‘stop at an ATM for bail money'? Because you can skip the details and just tell me where you are.”

“No!” she answered all huffy. As if
that's
never happened before. “I'm home and thankfully alone. You'll be happy to know that T-shirt attracted all sorts of attention.”

“Wait! Let me get a pen!”

“You can just use the same language from the lawsuit I filed against you.”

“Please continue,” I said. “I can't wait for the papers.”

“So at first I thought people were looking at me funny, but that could be for a number of things. I let the new stylist at the spa color my roots and they're … well, colorful to say the least, but then I actually saw people do double takes. Weird looks I can handle. Double takes that zero in on my boobs is completely another.”

“That must be how Vince Vaughn felt post-
Old School.
Moobs are a career killer.”

She continued. “Then I realized these two guys were following me and whispering. I picked up the pace and they picked up the pace and I felt exactly how Tracey Gold feels in pretty much any movie she's in. Then I remembered it was broad daylight and I was in a crowded, public park. So I stopped and turned around and asked them what the hell they thought they were doing.”

“Again, if you're in jail or the ER, will you please just save the details and tell me?”

“So they apologized and said they couldn't help notice my T-shirt and wanted to know if I played D&D.”

“What's bad about that?” I asked. People are always saying Seattleites are aloof and too passive to make friends with strangers. This could be really good for T-shirt sales.

“I'm like, ‘Hello, I'm working out here!' but they were so excited. They started telling me about their game on Wednesdays and their characters and asking me all sorts of questions about my levels and paths and who I was campaigning for, which I thought was a strange diversion.”

“I think they were asking what campaign you play in,” I explained. As if it mattered. Jodi was even more loquacious than her usual self. She wasn't asking for the
Player's Handbook
crib notes.

“I told them I hadn't played in a while, which is true. I haven't played since that time you plied us with Pinot and forced us to.”

“Forced, encouraged, drugged, whatever.”

“And said they'd be happy to roll down a character for me.”

“Roll up,” I said. “Keep talking.”

“So now I'm back to walking, really fast, trying to shake them while still managing to strike a balance between polite and disinterested, but they kept up! So then I lied and said I had a strict training schedule to maintain and took off running. Running!”

I laughed. Jodi has been known to say she'd only run if someone were chasing her. And then only if he had a long-range weapon.

“Sounds like you met two potential friends and managed to get in an even better workout than expected. I think you should thank me.”

“I can't feel my legs,” she said.

I made her an appointment with a massage therapist the next day. A few days later I got an e-mail from her:

AUTHOR'S NOTE
:
I'm not. Or at least not because of what she's referencing. Whenever women who are at the level of friendship that Jodi and I are at address one other as bitches or hos, it's a sure sign that they are neither. Kind of like calling your friend “cute” when really she's … oh, never mind.