I say all that to set up the preface of my story: about a month ago, I went with Jessica to a small "Wine & Chocolate Pairing" Happy Hour at Messina Hof Winery with three of her friends. The wine was savory, the chocolate was decadent, and the girls got tipsy enough to laugh at my jokes. On our way out, one of the girls saw an announcement for a Pirate-themed Murder Mystery dinner coming up in a couple of weeks: holy crap, that sounded like fun. Our little gang decided to sign up, and I decided to have one last fun Friday before starting grad school. I signed up for the dinner (5 courses with individual wine pairings, I might add) and received my character: Merchant. Wait, just Merchant? No silly name or enticing back-story to accompany my scurvy alter ego? Jessica was deemed Mad Rose, a Serving Wench with her eye on every peg leg that stumped into her tavern; clearly she was an integral part to the forthcoming plot of the evening. Oh well, I got my costume together, and that Friday, our group of five met at Messina Hof to drink wine and solve a good old-fashioned whodunnit.
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| Some smarmy sea dogs |
I was pleasantly surprised to find out that my character did have some history, so I really dove into it with every pirate-contrived slang that I could think of, and except for the two (accidental!) wildly inappropriate jokes that I made, I was very proud of myself. My first foot-in-mouth incident arose as I tried to achieve some goals laid out on my Character Page: I was supposed to approach the Governor's wife and imply to her that her husband needed to mind the company he keeps. On the spot, I was reminded of the "Lay down with dogs, wake up with fleas" adage, and I tried to put a nautical spin on things. Unfortunately, what came out of my mouth was, "Arrr, you need to tell that husband of yours to watch out; his ship is covered in barnacles."
Having just made an apparent STD/penis comment to a total stranger, I politely excused myself and hid under my sister's petticoats until I had finished my glass of wine. Soon after, my friend Blair and I were conspiring together about how to steal (fake pirate) money from unsuspecting players when a non-costumed, slightly heavyset "pirate" came up to us and tried to "rob" us without any weapon or heart. I pointed my musket-shaped water gun at him and told him to scram. As he walked away, I couldn't help but think of a good pirate insult to shame him with, and my vivid imagination conjured up a scenario of me stuffing him into a ship's porthole. Of course, he wouldn't fit, resulting in a Winnie-the-Pooh-stuck-in-the-tree-stump situation, which would be humiliating for him and hilarious for myself. Unfortunately, I didn't articulate that as well when I yelled out, "Get out of here before I shove you through my porthole!"
At this point, I realized the graphic and unladylike implications of my comment, and I again finished my wine as my table of friends took turns laughing and uttering their disgust at my expense.
Thankfully, my devotion to staying in character paid handsomely, because although I didn't correctly guess the Murderer, I was voted "Drama Queen" and won a free bottle of Chardonnay. Nice, right?
Now, as I write this blog post before tucking into the next few chapters of Practical Crime Scene Processing and Investigation (my Master's program is in Forensic Science, by the way. Don't worry, I'll share all the morbid details), I am very grateful for the memory of that night. Not only was the food absolutely delicious and the company wonderfully entertaining, but I'll always remember the time that I, among other things, accidentally told a stranger that her husband probably has genital warts.
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| The best friend(s) a landlubber could ask for |
