The barkeep said, "If ye can finish the plate, nxt few rounds on me!"

*I surreptiously look down.*
Do I look malnourished? I came in from the woodlands, not the Sahara.
*I cautiously whiff the air around me and then hold a hand up to my mouth.*
Maybe I "am" in need of those "girlie" lessons my more-feminine friends keep bothering on about.

*Clearing my throat as daintily as I can.*

"Why the Pit-Roast boar it is, then. Although, after my wearisome travels, I'm thirsty as all get out, any more than two rounds of that agave distillate would put me right under."

*Realizing my very unladylike public admission to potential drunkiness, I try to amend... *

"Would you happen to have a napkin to go with that boar?"