There's a pell in my backyard.
While I was mowing around it earlier (with "Wynn-power" -- a push mower), I was thinking about it and laughing at myself. It's one of *those* things. Somehow, I don't think the guy who my mom is encouraging me to meet at the book club or the singles group at church or the dude Dad wants me to pick up at the local cowboy bar would truly get that.
"Oh, that? That's a pell. My ex-boyfriend put it up so that he could practice ... ummm ... hitting people with sticks. Y'know to do more precise combinations faster, with less thought... Oh, yeah, that ... I have a lot of friends who do it. They put on armor and use practice swords made of a wood-like material. What? Ummm... Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's over me. Ummm, about 6'4", ~245? ... Oh, you have to go now, really? ... Well, I'll talk to you later? Call me?"
There really should be a special dating site for SCA people. I really can't put the pell on Match.com:
"Countess and Laurel (that means I can sew) who's not that jaded -- with long blond hair, and, well, I think I have dainty ankles, but everyone else says my best feature is my smile -- seeks male fighter, for mutual support... I'll watch you fight, make sure you drink enough, and cheer you on at all the right times (I'm good at this, I have references); you let me watch you fight (you don't even have to be that good) and be there to tell me it will be alright when things go bump in the night; please be either over your mid-life crisis or have a few good years left before it starts. I own a car that will carry a 9-foot spear -- on the inside, and did I mention I have a pell in my backyard?" :o)
