The Perk, Wednesday afternoon
Eliot had long since given up on having any sort of reasonable control over his own teaching destiny at Fandom, especially in the spring semester. So when the school informed him that he was going to be teaching Home Ec this semester, he was mostly just glad that it was a reasonable class subject, and that he didn't have to co-teach it with a pony.
Then the school sent him the list of class materials. By NPC messenger. While he just happened to be taking a break from his afternoon run at the coffee shop.
"Okay," he said, flipping through the list. "Even I know that's out of date." He sipped his coffee and pulled out a pen, circling the things he'd have to look up how to do. He could handle the cooking stuff fine, of course, and the cleaning and the money stuff, but other than some basic mending, the fiber arts had passed him right by. And there were a lot of them. Lord help him if the Russian mob ever found out he was teaching himself to knit. (Though, a strong enough pair of needles. . . .)
"Wait, what the hell is tatting?"
[Open! Please save me from working-on-break-week hell!]
Then the school sent him the list of class materials. By NPC messenger. While he just happened to be taking a break from his afternoon run at the coffee shop.
"Okay," he said, flipping through the list. "Even I know that's out of date." He sipped his coffee and pulled out a pen, circling the things he'd have to look up how to do. He could handle the cooking stuff fine, of course, and the cleaning and the money stuff, but other than some basic mending, the fiber arts had passed him right by. And there were a lot of them. Lord help him if the Russian mob ever found out he was teaching himself to knit. (Though, a strong enough pair of needles. . . .)
"Wait, what the hell is tatting?"
[Open! Please save me from working-on-break-week hell!]