Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Dungeons & Dragons (31 page)

Des called a few days later. I could hear Gabe and Ruby giggling in the background.

“Seriously,” Des asked. “What have you done to my kids?”

Uh-oh, I think. They're having nightmares, or they're
fanking
the neighbors and clobbering them for raisins, or worse—they've destroyed Des's beautiful glass table with the d20 I left for them.

“I'm really sorry, Des,” I said. “I really thought they were enjoying it. And I never used the word
kill.
”

“I don't care if you did!” she yelled. “They won't leave each other's side! They have chores, easy stuff because you know they're just kids, but still I keep finding them doing things together. Ruby and Gabe were both holding the hose to water the garden, they help each other clean their rooms, they carried the dinner dishes to the dishwasher together. Like each one held one side of each dish!”

Wow, talk about lazy. I didn't like doing dishes either but I could certainly carry my own dish to the machine that washed it for me.

“I asked them what they were doing,” she continued, “and they said they had to work together,
as a team
, so they could win some treasure.”

“I don't know, Des, I mean, it sounds pretty normal for your kids,” I said. “I have to admit you're doing something right because even I liked hanging out with them.”

She hesitated. “I don't know. They keep talking about a monster that will give them raisins if they defeat it. Do you think they're calling me a monster?”

“They're much too young to think you're a monster,” I told her. Someday they will, but I didn't tell her that. Instead, I let her bask in the glow of her new, improved kids.

“And they want to know when they'll see you again. You're suddenly their favorite friend.”

“Me?” I asked. “They liked me?”

“Liked? They loved you! I don't know what you did but they can't stop talking about how much fun you were and how funny you are. You're right up there with Dave and the Giant Pickle.”

Not to get all Sally Field on her, but I couldn't get past them actually liking me. Not just
tolerated
or
used as a vehicle for evil doings
but apparently enjoyed my company. And dare I say, I kind of enjoyed them? I was alone with them for nearly an hour and we all survived. I don't provoke an innate urge to hit, punch, or run over in
all
kids, at least.

Then I had the strangest vision. It was of my red CB ski jacket. The most coveted possession a twelve-year-old could own. All the kids at West Middle School had CB ski jackets. For good reason, too—they skied. Not me. In fact, I barely went outside if it was below 40 degrees but I
had
to have a CB jacket. Had. To. Simply could not survive another day without one. Only problem was, those suckers were expensive. Like hundreds of dollars. A pretty steep investment for a hobby I had no intention of ever participating in.

“Absolutely not,” Judy said over and over. “You don't need a fancy ski jacket to walk from the front door to the driveway in.”

“But I need a warm coat!” I pleaded. “It's every child's right!”

“You have a warm coat. It's fine. Get over it.”

I would never “get over it,” as Judy suggested. At least, not really. But I could do the next best thing—stage a loud, vocal, aggressive smear campaign against CB jackets.

“Look how puffy Heather's coat is,” I said to Mary and Kristina at lunchtime.

“Do you smell that?” I asked Peter, when we were waiting for the crossing guard to give us the go-ahead. “It's coming from Sean's CB. I hear they use the feathers of birds that died from disease and murder for those jackets.”

It was a noble effort but the only person I was fooling was myself. If I couldn't have the one thing I lusted after, the only thing I believed would make a preteen me happy (next to Bon Jovi playing at my thirteenth birthday party), then I pretended I didn't want it.

I'm not picking out names or picking out running strollers at Babies “R” Us but … could it be possible? Could kids be ski jackets to women in their late ‘30s who have spent the majority of our lives single?

“I hope you don't mind,” I said to Des. “But I'd like to make plans with Gabe and Ruby again. Maybe they could come to Seattle and Bart and I could take them to the zoo or the aquarium or, I know! The Science Center. Bart has been dying to go there.”

“They would love that!” she shouted. “And I'd love a little time in the city to myself.” Then she added, “Are you sure Bart wouldn't mind?”

“He'd love it,” I said with confidence. “I'm sure he and Gabe will be best buds.”

She sighed. “You're so lucky to be with someone who is good with kids. I hope you know that.”

“I know,” I said, realizing for the first time in, well … ever, that was true. “But if you tell Judy I hung out with your kids—and liked it—your glass table gets it.”

ADVENTURE OVERVIEW

Nestled inside the Pacific Northwest's fabled Ring of Fire, between the evergreens and hilly one-way streets untouched by salt trucks or snowplows, lies Seattle's twelfth-most-popular neighborhood. Potholed streets, an embarrassing lack of sidewalks, a plethora of bodegas offering piñatas and Jarritos soda (which the party should definitely stop in and try), and one delicious tap house are all hallmark's of Seattle's twelfth-most-popular neighborhood. Well, those hallmarks and the one they seldom discuss: the vicious harpy and her familiar—a dire feline—who live complacently in a condo, which may or may not be under a massive assessment at this time.

THE TAP HOUSE

The party, parched from a day of dodging potholes and walking single-file down streets in the bike lane, stops by the tap house made famous by the Harpy. She loves not just the twenty-four rotating beers on tap but their creative use of vegetarian Field Roast in their menu offerings. You half expect to see her here, but alas, it's a Wednesday. The Harpy never goes out on Wednesdays.