“Wait…why are you attacking them?? They’re just standing around, minding their own business, being…undead, and you wander in and start beating on them! How is that heroic?”
So sayeth my wife this weekend. She’d come into the office while I was grinding Eglain reputation in Garth Agarwen (undead, dark-waters, and bog-lurkers). Four brief sentences and a roll of the eyes; her take on what occupies such a massive amount of my time. And a friendly, if unintended, reminder to not take these games so seriously. In her defense, she was poking fun; she’s always been understanding of a hobby that dominates so much of what I do, and is as accepting as patience allows (and she’s got a lot of patience).
The remainder of the conversation was fairly predictable in how it played out:
Me: “Sweetie…they’re undead. Zombies. They’re evil.”
Her: “How evil can they be? They’re just standing around. You’re the one who’s trespassing!”
Me: “But they’re minions. Of The Dark Lord.”
Her: “Dark Lord. Sure, but what did they do to you?”
Me: “They’re…MINIONS. Enemies of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth.” (This is where I knew I’d lost.)
Me: “Look. They’re wretched. See? It’s called a Wretched Gloom-Water. I’m putting it out of it’s misery.”
Her: “Uh-huh.” *kiss*
I consider myself fairly good with words, and I can generally hold my own in a debate. But it’s hard to argue in the face of that kind of opinion; she doesn’t actively dislike games, she’s just never understood the appeal or been able to make the logical (or illogical) jump required to immerse yourself in the experience of an MMO. Suspension of disbelief and all that.
At least I got a kiss.