I’m part of an online roleplaying group like Dungeons & Dragons. We’re starting a new and very small campaign to set a backstory for another campaign, consisting of me, two other players, and the Dungeon Master.

We are pirates, and I become the captain due to a dice roll. We’ve been told to introduce ourselves, and our only dwarf — usually a very prepared player — isn’t prepared.

Dwarf Player: “My name is… uh… Gregor… Erm…”

Me: “Sparklebeard.”

Other Player: “Yes.”

Dwarf Player: “No!”

DM: “I think your captain knows what her first mate’s name is.”

Dwarf Player: “When was it decided that I was the first mate?”

DM: “Just now, Sparklebeard.”

Dwarf Player: “My name isn’t Sparklebeard.”

Me: “It’s your stage name.”

Other Player: “Yup, ‘cause you’re a stripper.”

Me: “Yes. You dump glitter in your beard and strip; that’s how you got the name.”

DM: “Is there a set time where he does this?”

Me: “On the weekend.”

Other Player: “And only when drunk.”

Me: “That’s why he’s foggy on the subject.”

Dwarf Player: *Laughing* “Fine, I’ll take it. I’m a gay stripper on the weekend when drunk.”

DM: “Wait, a gay one?”

Dwarf Player: “If I’m being a pirate stripper, I’m being a fabulous one.”

Me: “We don’t judge on this ship.”

Fast forward later into the campaign. We’re victorious in a pirate battle, and thus, we start drinking. During our drinking, we’re ambushed and we’re struggling in that battle.

Dwarf Player: “Wait! Am I drunk right now?!”

DM: “Roll for drunkenness. Low is drunk; high is sober. If you’re drunk, you have to roll with two dice. If you get a one, it’s three.”

The dwarf rolls and gets a four.

Dwarf Player: “Right. I dump glitter in my beard and strip to distract the enemy.” 

He rolls again and gets a seventeen and an eighteen.

DM: “Well. It works. The enemy is completely distracted by you.”

We proceeded to win the fight on the back of this roll. Later on, we also managed to sneak into a fort by using him as a stripper-gram. It was a very successful campaign.

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A friend of mine has invited me along with some other friends to play in a tabletop roleplaying game. The setting is fourteenth-century France. I speak French fluently; my friend has very limited French.

Friend: “Okay, so, the neighbourhood you guys are going to settle in is called Port du Rhin.”

He pronounces it as rhyming with “tin”.

Friend: “I chose this one because I think I can pronounce it.”

Me: “Could you spell that for me?”

Friend: “R-H-I-N.” *Pause* “What?”

Me: “Nothing.”

Friend: “I’m saying it wrong.”

Me: “Um… a little bit.”

Friend: “How should you say it?”

Me: “Rhin.”

For people who don’t speak French, the word consists of two sounds that don’t exist in English. It sounds vaguely like you coughed while saying the word “ran” and didn’t finish closing the “n”.

Friend: *Pauses* “I have chosen poorly. Moving on…”

I’m at my friend’s house having lunch with her on her birthday. Her son has just started college in a town a few hours away, and she’s upset he hasn’t sent her a card but figures he’s been too busy with settling in and has just forgotten. While we’re eating, she gets a video call from him.

Son: “Hey, I’ve sent you a birthday card, but I had my college ID on the table when I wrote it and I can’t find it. I think I might have put it in the envelope with the card. Can you open it and check?”

Friend: “Oh! I thought you’d forgotten. I haven’t got your card yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

Son: “Oh, no, it must have got lost! I don’t know how I can get another ID; they said we’d have to pay a fine if we lost it.”

Friend: “It might just be running late. When did you post it?”

Son: “This morning. You should have it; the post always gets there before lunch. How do I call the post office to check?”

Friend: *Pause* “[Son], you do realise that if you posted it this morning, I won’t get it until at least tomorrow?”

Son: “What do you mean?”

Friend: “How do you think the post system works?”

Son: “You put on the stamp and put it in the box, and they deliver it. I’m not stupid! I know how it works! It should be there!”

Friend: “Oh, for God’s sake. You put it in the box, the postman collects it, and then they have to get it across the country overnight so our postman can deliver it the next day! It’s not instant! What did you think, it was like email?”

Son: *Pause* “No?”

Yes, he really did think that if you drop post into a postbox, it would magically zip across the miles, ready to be delivered the same day.

I’m visiting a friend who is very fit and an avid hiker. As we’re both middle-aged, we’re commiserating over the usual aches and pains.

Friend: “Since my last hike, my lower back has been hurting. It’s not injured, just sore.”

Me: “That happens to me, too. Try stretching your hamstrings.”

Friend: “What? No, my legs are fine. My back hurts.”

Me: “Yeah, but sometimes tight hamstrings can pull on your lower back.”

Friend: “That doesn’t make any sense. My hamstrings are probably tight from hiking, but it has nothing to do with my back.”

Me: “Another woman in my ballet class didn’t believe me, either. But when she stretched out her hamstrings, her back felt better.”

Friend: “I just don’t see how it can work.”

Me: “Look. It’s safe and easy to try; just do it.”

Friend: “I don’t know.”

After about ten minutes of this back and forth, my friend finally puts her leg on a surface about hip height and gently stretches the back of the leg. Then, she does the other side. When she’s done, she tests her back.

Friend: “Hey! The pain’s mostly gone!”

Me: “Great!”

Friend: “Hamstrings affecting the back… Who knew?”

Me: “Me! I knew!”

I am a fairly petite woman. My boyfriend is a larger guy, but he is very much a “gentle giant” who would never intentionally hurt anyone. I play rugby: a sport that is not known for being “gentle” or “cuddly”. I get a black eye in a rugby match one weekend, and when I go to class the following Monday, another woman I know from a few classes approaches me.

Woman: “Oh, my gosh, [My Name]. What happened to your face?”

Me: “I got hit by an elbow on Saturday.”

Woman: “[My Name], you can tell me. Did [Boyfriend] hit you?”

Me: “No, I had a rugby match on Saturday. I went into a tackle and ended up taking an elbow to the face. It happens sometimes.”

Woman: “[My Name]… Please be honest with me. I don’t want anyone to get in trouble, but if [Boyfriend] is hurting you, you need to tell someone.”

Me: “It wasn’t [Boyfriend] at all. He would never hurt anyone, especially me.”

Woman: “Well, I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you, but if he gets mad, it wouldn’t take much because he’s so much bigger than you.”

Me: “For the last time, [Boyfriend] didn’t hurt me. I play rugby. Getting hurt sometimes is part of the sport.”

Woman: “Don’t worry, [My Name]. I won’t tell anybody about you and [Boyfriend], but at least take this.”

She hands me a business card for the local battered women’s shelter.

Woman: “I volunteer there for part of my volunteer practicum. We have a lot of people who have learned to lie about their relationship, but just remember that you’re not alone next time [Boyfriend] does something like this, okay?”

I tore up the business card, threw the pieces in the trash, and walked away from her. She tried a few more times, whenever I had scrapes or bruises from rugby, to convince me that I needed to get away from my boyfriend, but she finally gave up after he proposed to me and I said yes.