So, as I mentioned earlier, I'm reading Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series. Last night, as the heroines battled evil in Tanchico, Bobby (I call him Bobby) managed to concoct a perfect storm of gender baiting bizzareness that has driven me to the very brink of my sanity. Bud's friend Windy (of Bin and Windy) is my go-to expert on all things Jordan, but apparently she thinks working is more important than rescuing me from this ridiculousness.
What the HELL are you trying to tell me, Bobby? Why are you so goddamn obsessed with inter-gender strife? Why is that all you can talk about? And if you're so interested in gender differences, and the foibles of men and women, then how come you write your men like cowed little housewives, and your women like belligerent teenage males? Is this how women see the world? Are you writing for women? I don't think so... I think women (and everyone else) pretty much loathe snotty arrogant women and scared men. And yet, you keep on with it. It's beyond my ability to understand.
My only recourse is yet more Bobby Jordan parody...
Senior Sergeant Thorsson strode into the Blueball Inn, followed closely by Rennick, the master of thieves. Both men were veterans of many battles, and it showed in their walk, in the confident set of their jaws. These were men who brooked no insult, and expected no mercy. Thorsson removed his helm, and tucked it under a thickly muscled arm, before he spoke.
“Mistress Pritti, I have returned from Hellgate, I believe...”
Pritti whirled around, stamping a dainty foot and glaring at him. “You believe? You fool man, I should tan your hide! Is your head filled with wool?”
Thorsson was taken aback by her outburst, and stammered like an infant, even though I'm writing him as a battle hardened veteran. “Miss... But... I just...”
She may have only been 20 years old, a mere six months away from a life milking goats on a backwater farm, but Pritti would be burned if she'd let a fool man tell her what to do, or how to plan. Men were so foolish at times! “You just? You just what? Why are you even here? I aught to strip your hide! Or strop it! Something that relates to your hide, I should do that, you can be sure!”
Gulping like a fish out of water, again, completely out of character, Thorsson tried to explain. “Mistress Pritti, you sent me to the Hellgate a week past, and demanded that I scout out the orques number there, and...”
Planting her tiny fists in her hips, Pritti narrowed her eyes. “I demanded? Why, I aught to skin you of your hide and make a tampon bag of it! I aught... Wait, what did I order you to do?”
“To reconnoiter the orque forces, Mistress.”
Pritti considered his words for a moment, tapping her plump, rosebud mouth with a slender finger. “That's right, I did... And now you come blathering secrets for everyone to hear? Do you want to cost us all our hides? You're mistaken if you think I'll surrender my hide, you furry chested lummox!” Men! Always thinking with their chest hair!
Thorsson looked around the room confusedly, before speaking. “But, Mistress Pritti, it is only you, Master Rennick and myself here. There is nobody to hear my report.”
With a whirl of her narrow, divided skirts, Pritti began pacing back and forth across the room. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts in thought. Finally she spoke. “I have considered what you say, Thorsson, and I will admit, we are the only people in the room. Perhaps it is safe to share this information.” She paused, just long enough to let the Senior Sergeant open his mouth, then she snapped it shut with the force of her tone. “But only because I permit it do you speak. Do you understand? Do you both understand?” Men could be so bullheaded at times!
The two men spoke in unison, in hused, cowed tones. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Excellent. Discretion and secrecy are the two-fold keys to success in our mission. Now, stop stalling and deliver your report as commanded before... Hide... Skinned... Whatever, go.”
“Yes, of course Mistress... Rennick and I travelled through the Fields of Anguish, and reached the Hellgate...” He was cut off in mid sentence by a merry tune coming from Pritti's aetherphone.
“Please, cease your prattling for one moment, Thorsson! For one moment!” She flipped the arcane device open and spoke into its mystical receiver. “Hello?” She paused, listening to the weave of enchantment it directed into her earhole. “Yes, this is Pritti Innerstrenf...” Again, the device spoke to her. “Oh, I'm just hanging out at the Blueball Inn, in my secret room, making plans to attack Demonmaster Zorgat's lair. Yeah. Wait, who is this, anyway?” An evil cackle was clearly audible from the aetherphone. “Curse you Zorgat! Curse you and your fell sorceries! My hide is off limits to you! Do you hear me? Off limits!”
She clapped the aetherphone shut, and whirled on the two men, her eyes full of fire. “Fool men! You've given away our position and our plans! Zorgat's minions are no doubt on their way already, like a swarm of hide-seeking missiles! Curse you loose lipped men!” Thorsson opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when she continued. “Well, the damage has already been done. You two will have to clear the Crystalmine of orques before sunset, if we are to move our base of operations. I'll leave the details up to you, but I will no doubt be dissatisfied with whatever you accomplish.” Fool men! Why are men so foolish! They're so hateable, yet so loveable! How silly to think of men at a time like this, with so much work to do...