In Which There Is A Domestic Scene

So, last night as I was finishing up the grand Tidying Up of the Kitchen, my husband walks into the kitchen (with a duck under his arm! Ha, no.) and asks me where the kick-ass Medieval combat book came from. He looked a tad bewildered, and a little suspicious. I know what he was thinking. Sometimes my mom gives me random things, or she gets a wild hair up her rear-end and gets super into a subject– only to purge all things related to that subject later, when she is bored with it. I’ll bet you five dollars right now that he thought the book was hers, even though it was on a pretty unlikely topic.

But no, I told him it was mine, and I told him why I got it– for the basics of combat. When do you parry? Where do you try to hit somebody– where is a weak spot if you’re using an axe?

He cracked up, like I was doing something unfathomably silly. I started to get a bit pissed off, like I was being treated like The Little Woman. After all, I was coming out of the kitchen and had just stuck a meat loaf in the oven. You don’t get much more domesticated than that. I may have even been wearing an apron. I can’t remember what he said, but it was some question about why I’d have to go back to Medieval times to figure out a fight sequence.

But then he joked that I could have just asked him how to have a fight sequence, and I had to forgive him. I don’t think he knows any more about combat– courtly or karate or otherwise– than I do.

And then we gushed over the battle plans in the book. Ah, nerd love.


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