Loyal readers, I now bring you part one of the famous saga: The Battle of the Cookware.
It begins on a dark and snowy night during winter term, as all tales of Oberlin must. Yours truly was baking focaccia over at Sir John's castle, because yours truly lacks an oven of her own, being only a poor knight from the distant north. Out of Sir John's oven was born much glorious focaccia, mountains of focaccia, cascades of focaccia. So much there was that this humble knight decided to take a small morsel back with her to her own castle.
But, yours truly had neglected to bring her own portion of the HOLY TUPPERWARE. So she borrowed a portion of the HOLY TUPPERWARE from Sir John's fellow knight and resident of the castle, known only as The Red.
Some weeks did pass. Then, while this humble knight was peacably reading a tome in Sir John's chamber, The Red burst through the door. He said, "Ummmm. Hi. Could you bring back the tupperware? Thaaanks," in a most unknightly tone.
Yours truly said that she would. But another week passed, full of jousts and tournaments and linguistics exams, and this humble knight tragically forgot to return the HOLY TUPPERWARE, now neatly washed, to The Red.
It came to pass that yours truly and Sir John dined at the Castle of Lord Brendan, a man who is much renowned for his generosity with his wine, mead, and other sundry liquors. Our heroes quitted the Castle of Lord Brendan at a late hour, bidding that kind lord a fond farewell. Sir John and this humble knight took horse for the long, cold ride back to Sir John's castle.
When our heroes arrived, there sat The Red, Lord Gabington, and the ever amusing Karl Lothario. "Um," said The Red, as we entered, without so much as a by-your-leave, "Ok. If you don't bring back the tupperware? like by 5 o'clock tomorrow? Then I'm going to charge you five bucks for it."
Yours truly, who admittedly had been imbibing Lord Brendan's excellent booze, replied, "I shall return the HOLY TUPPERWARE on the morrow. But, good knight, there is no need to plague me with pernicious threats. For, in sooth, that is not the manner in which I roll." Indeed, that is not the manner in which any true knight doth roll.
What followed was a somewhat regrettable incident, in which there was much shouting and clashing of spears. After this humble knight retired to Sir John's chamber, The Red proportedy implied that he 'didn't like it when women contradicted him.' When Sir John reported this, I could not but laugh, and say "Is it not the age when women can be knights as well?"
The HOLY TUPPERWARE was returned by the good auspices of Sir John the following morning.
