[ WP ] After brushing your teeth in the morning you go downstairs to fry an egg , but when you try the frying pan buzzes at you and text appears reading , `` level 18 cooking required to use object '' .

I dropped my level 5 brush of fortitude ( +20 % plaque defence, +10 % enamel strength, yeah - it ’ s nice ) back into the cup above the shining white porcelain sink ( self-cleaning perk ). We ’ d just had the house renovated by master craftsmen from the guild, you should visit sometime. 
 
 “ Kat, honey? You there? ” my wife, Ellie, called from the bottom of the stairs. Oak, +3 travel speed. We were thinking of getting the gold-leaf with +5, but our hearts settled on the oak. Well, mine had. Ellie had taken a little convincing on it, but she came around. 
 
 “ What is it, dear? ” 
 
 “ I think there ’ s a problem with the oven. ” 
 
 I rushed downstairs, appreciating the extra speed. Seriously, you need to try it. The blasted oven, installed last night and as-yet untested. No matter how good a craftsman says they are, you can never be too safe. 
 
 “ What ’ s happening? ” I asked through panted breaths. A small white bar floated in my vision labelled agility, level 10. The bar lengthened, albeit only slightly. 
 
 “ It won ’ t turn on, it just sort of buzzes there and makes angry sounds. ” 
 
 I could write all I knew about oven maintenance on a single hair on the single head of a single angel dancing on a single pin. I considered a trip to the local trainer, but with the renovation we were in the hole for a while until I could get enough dark-bear pelts. 
 
 “ Let me try? ” 
 
 “ I don ’ t see how you doing it is going to make a difference. ” 
 
 “ Still, I might be able to spot the problem better, if I try it myself ” 
 
 “ Fine, ” she shrugged and stepped out of the way, “ But it won ’ t work. ” 
 
 I approached the oven ( level 30, silver and gold leaf. Not a looker but could cook a whole dark-bear in under a minute ) gingerly. It was silent, but that didn ’ t mean it was safe. If there had been a breach, imps inside could be waiting for the right moment to strike. My sword ( level 7, silver and rosewood. Extra damage to the undead ) was upstairs, but I figured I could probably handle an imp or two with Ellie ’ s help. I flicked the igniter, which activated a hidden spring. The spring knocked a small hammer off balance, it wobbled and began a slow, graceful arc into the skull of a small fire imp who, in his rage, attacked every imp around him. Purple ire-flame tunnelled up a series of pipes and valves and expelled as a controlled jet into the oven proper. 
 
 “ Okay, so what ’ s the problem? ” 
 
 “ Ugh! Why does it always do that when you do it? ” 
 
 “ What do you mean? ” 
 
 “ Every time! Every time I have trouble with something, the oven breaks, or the computer- ” ( level 20, dark-steel and mountain silicon, +40 gigaflops and +20 % frames per second ), “ -switches itself off, or the TV- ” ( common +3 flat-panel, oak, +10 DPI ) “ -won ’ t record. Every time, you come in and you do exactly what I do and it works first time! ” 
 
 “ I dunno, maybe you fixed it before I got here? ” I lied; I knew why it didn ’ t work, but we ’ d fought before and the fights never solved anything. It was her fault for not reading around, for not improving her INT and it was my fault for buying so much high tech stuff. The thought of another over something as petty as an oven didn ’ t appeal to me. 
 
 “ You know why, ” she growled. I guess we were having that argument after all. 
 
 “ You ’ re a great cook, ” I said, “ You know that. It can ’ t be that. Let me check the manual, ” I flipped the manual open to the back page, _Requirements_, “ Okay, so we ’ ve got the right food supply going in, we ’ ve got enough gold for maintenance. Minimum level is 18, so that ’ s not a problem. Why don ’ t you try it again? ” 
 
 Ellie blushed, and the blush turned to a frown, “ No, it ’ s not going to work. ” 
 
 “ What? You ’ re at least level 34. Look at that meal you made last weekend, what was it, bouillabaisse and smoked tomato ratatouille? There ’ s no way you could do that at level 18. ” 
 
 “ I, uh, I ’ m not actually. ” 
 
 I stood back, “ But… But all those home-cooked meals? ” 
 
 “ To start with, sure. I made you some good stuff, but the bar just stopped moving. I couldn ’ t improve fast enough. I ’ ve, uh, I ’ ve been buying them in. ” 
 
 “ What? For the money you ’ ve wasted on food, you could see a trainer! What about Mister Clatter in ChefTown? ” 
 
 “ A trainer? You seriously think we could afford to gain, what, eight levels with him? Straight after a remodel? I know you like to waste money, but Jesus, Kate! ” 
 
 “ Me wasting money? You ’ re buying fine meals every day just to pretend you ’ re a high-level cook! ” 
 
 “ Oh shut up, don ’ t act like you ’ re perfect just because you went to your fancy school, with your fancy lessons, high INT teachers and free training. And your Madame Ducat, ” she poked a spiteful grin at me, pierced my heart better than a level 100 foil could do. 
 
 “ Okay! Okay! ” I raised my hands, “ No need to get personal. How about I cook for a while then? I ’ m still around 25 after the- ” 
 
 “ The gap year spent in the French Riviera, ” she finished, “ Yeah, I ’ m aware. ” 
 
 “ I ’ m not trying to rub it in, Ellie, ” I said, flatly. 
 
 “ Then why would you bring it up? ” 
 
 “ Oh, I don ’ t know! ” I felt my breath rising, why was this my fault? It ’ s not like she couldn ’ t just go out there and take a course in cookery, or smithing, or gardening, or hunting, alchemy, anything. There ’ s information everywhere! “ Because it ’ s _true_? ” I said, “ And what does it matter? Why are you so sensitive about it? It ’ s not like we ’ re poor now! ” 
 
 “ Oh yeah, you like bringing that up, don ’ t you? We ’ re not poor now! Not poor now that you have that nice job. Not poor even though I don ’ t have a job. ” 
 
 “ Wow, you must have levelled to 100 on inferiority complexes. What perks did you pick? ” 
 
 “ Fuck off! ” she threw a cup in my direction. Agility check failed, it bounced off of my arm and left it numb. 
 
 “ You ’ d like that, wouldn ’ t you? ” I said, voice rising. “ Back to being poor; you were happier poor anyway. ” 
 
 Without another word, she fled the room. The door slammed behind her and she stomped upstairs. I slunk against the oven, rubbing life back into my arm. In separate rooms, we both fought our tears. I love her, I do. Maybe it ’ s truer to say I _loved_ her, and I ’ m sure she _loved_ me, but there, sat slumped against my beautiful new oven, listening to the dampened angry grunting from the imps inside, I quit. 
 
 It ’ s time I saw a legalism trainer.
