|Remember that article someone brought up a long time ago that argued if a female PC got pregnant their adventuring career should automatically be over? Like even after the baby was born cause they had to stay home and raise it?|
Because apparently this guy had never heard of Nanny's or Governesses, both of which an adventurer who is usually flush with cash could easily afford, or friendly NPC's or family members. Hell, adventuring probably wouldn't even be out of the question while pregnant, at least for the early months, assuming they're a class that keeps to the back rows like a spellcaster. And even if not, hey, how do you think Sorcerers get made?
Midwife: And push.... push... congratulation its a.... oh wow. WOW. That's new.
Barbarian: What? Is my baby okay?
Midwife: Um, she's okay, but she's....green.
Barbarian: Okay, why is my baby green.
Midwife: Well, whose the father?
Barbarian: Probably some guy I screwed at a tavern. Look I don't keep a ledger alright? I'm an adventurer. I have a guy in every town. That's how I roll. Actually surprised I haven't popped out more youngins by now. All of them were human if that's what you're asking, well, human and Demihuman. There was that Goliath, and the Elf. And the Dwarf.
Rogue: And the Three Halflings.
Barbarian: Oh they were the best! You ever been with Halflings? They have tiny tiny hands and they go EVERYWHERE.
Midwife: Focus! Okay, have you been exposed to any strange and unusual energies or powers while you were pregnant.
Midwife: Come on...
Barbarian: Well, okay yes. I mean I'm the teams tank, if some lich is gonna throw a spell at us its likely gonna hit me first. So sue me.
Wizard: It probably wasn't a lich though. Although if I were a betting man I would put it on the time you waded into that Green Dragon's poison breath weapon.
Barbarian: Oh yeah that thing. Man, I took so much damage.
Midwife: Wait aren't Green Dragon breaths deadly chlorine?
Barbarian: yu huh.
Midwife: Okay then, follow up question how did your baby survive at all?
Barbarian: I took a feat that lets my unborn baby use my fortitude save against poison and disease.
Midwife: That's a thing?
Barbarian: This is Third edition/Pathfinder. So yeah, its probably a thing somewhere.
Midwife: Well okay but I don't think being exposed to deadly Dragon breath would....
Wizard: And of course once we killed the Dragon she was all like 'Oh hey you guys, Dragon steaks! I'm starving!"
Midwife: Oh there we go.
Barbarian: I WAS PREGNANT. I HAD CRAVINGS.
Wizard: And I would believe that if I hadn't seen how you ate BEFORE you were pregnant. Seriously, one time we killed a ton of Displacer Beasts. She ate the meat, then turned on the bone.
Rogue: I was afraid I would lose a thumb.
Barbarian: Hey, raging makes me hungry.
Baby: *Sneezes cutely and launches an acid glob across the room*
Rogue: And the baby is casting cantrips.
Wizard: I'll contact the wizard academy for when we have to enroll her into sorcerer pre K.
Barbarian: Aww, whose mommy's little acid spitting monster? You are, You are.
Midwife: I don't get paid enough for that.
Rogue: *Drops bag of gold at her feet*
Midwife: Oh wait I do get paid enough for this never mind. Please by all means come back again.
|Author (Tom Lawrence)|
|Lefse and Lutefisk Emergencies|
It was a lefse emergency.
My cousin Missy was seeking lefse the day before Thanksgiving. She had checked with every store in Brookings, but could not locate any of the Norwegian potato flatbread that is a holiday mainstay for those of us with Viking heritage. I mean the Scandinavian sea adventurers, not the football team still in search of a Super Bowl crown.
After all, Missy is a Bears fan. But she is also part Norwegian, like me, and craves the bland, somewhat salty, doughy taste.
I felt bad for my cousin, but wished her well in her search. I told her of stores in Sioux Falls where I had spotted lefse, including one where I had bought two packages, but she had already called them and they were out. Was Missy willing to make a 100-mile round trip for lefse?
Of course she was. It's tradition, a taste that brings you back to earlier holiday gatherings.
When I lived in western Nebraska in 2009, I sought lefse for Christmas. The stores I stopped at and called did not have it in stock, and most employees had never heard of lefse. What can you expect from people who put cabbage on their hamburgers?
My sister Mary came to my rescue and mailed me some lefse just in time for the holidays. As I buttered and rolled up each piece, I thanked her for that.
Note I said buttered. Some people apply sugar to lefse, which seems an abomination to me. According to online recipes, others add cinnamon, jelly, peanut butter and other toppings to lefse. This should not be encouraged.
Lefse must be eaten as Odin and Thor enjoyed theirs: lightly buttered, rolled and eaten.
I have even seen family members place sugar on their lefse, which caused me to shake my head sadly. What can you do when the misguided dishonor tradition and taste?
Norwegian-Americans, like most people, embrace their cultural roots, especially during the holidays. You only see lefse in stores at the end of the year, where it is joined by its dreadful cousin, lutefisk. Some eat them together, but then, people text and drive, smoke crack or balance precariously on icy rooftops.
None of these are sane activities.
Lutefisk is, improbably, dried whitefish soaked in lye. Yes, lye. Norwegian immigrants shipped whitefish to America more than a century ago and placed lye on it to prevent it from rotting. Somehow, they developed a taste for that. It's not a proud moment for my people.
Lutefisk is soaked in water for several days and then placed in a mixture of water and lye. After a few days of this, it is covered in salt, which is scraped off and then the lutefisk is either boiled or steamed, creating a jelly-like substance.
It looks as good as you might imagine. Oh, and the smell? It is enough to knock a buzzard off a fence post near a rotting animal corpse.
And yet a sizeable number of Norwegians flock to lutefisk feeds at churches, clubs or bars. My dad, 100 percent Norwegian, was among them. Of course, he had to go to such events, since Mom, half Irish, half Danish and all sensible, would not allow that foul substance anywhere near our house.
I took a small bite once for a story I did on lutefisk, with Dad along to help me understand why it was such a holiday ritual. It was a culinary experience I will never forget, try though I may. It was slimy, had a foul taste and the odor was truly gut-wrenching.
Dad said it wasn't the highest quality, but he finished his plate. I was done after my one and only tiny taste.
in 2004, I covered a Norwegian-American event in Mankato, Minn. The Norwegian ambassador to the United States, an elegant man in a dark suit named Knut Vollebaek, stood out in the crowd of Americans in colorful costumes. He said he had never tried lefse or lutefisk, and had no plans to do so that day or any day, for that matter.
They are popular among those who have never visited Norway, usually can't speak a word of the language and know little of its history. But these holiday "treats" -- if you can call lutefisk that -- aren't about a country or a culture.
They are links to our past, to holidays with family, which is why Missy wanted lefse last week for Thanksgiving. Thankfully, Margaret, a longtime family friend, was able to provide some for her and her family.
I had a piece of lefse with lunch today, and assuredly will eat more in the coming weeks. Lutefisk? No, there are some traditions that need to come to an end.