Monday, February 27, 2012

Every man needs a Man Cave

I know that technically it is called a garage, but in reality it is a much more sacred area than merely a place to park a car. In fact, when I framed in our carport and made it into a full blown garage I had no plans to park a car in it – ever. No, this space was reserved for something far more important. It was designed from the beginning to be a gathering place, a place of solitude, a place of safety. It was The Man Cave. What a glorious place The Man Cave is. A hiding place, I mean, a place where I can go to be with my thoughts, to ponder the meaning of life, to hide from the inlaws when they come for a visit. And I am sure all of my testosterone-laden bros will agree the one area where the Missus has little say is the garage. The Man Cave is just that – for men. Ladies, the garage is not messy. It is simply arranged in a manner to which you are unfamiliar and do not understand. It is another example of how men and women are different. Kind of like our taste in movies. Take The Notebook for example. My wife loves that story. Personally, I would rather spend two hours chewing tinfoil while sitting on a block of ice in a Speedo (sorry for the visual on that one.) And just like men cannot figure out a woman’s purse, The Man Cave was designed by a man for a man. I know where everything I need in the garage is. Sure on occasion it may take me a few minutes to find exactly where something is, but find it I shall. The Missus may not see a method to my madness, but in my man brain everything is exactly where it is supposed to be so ladies, please do not try to make us rearrange our garage to meet your standards. Isn’t it bad enough the quilt on our bed has flowers on it and there are those little pillows that serve no purpose whatsoever other than something that has to be moved every single time I go to bed. They must also be put back every single morning. Why? Beats the hell out of me, but there they sit every single day. There are no fluffy pillows in The Man Cave. There are tools, made of hard, cold steel and covered in chrome. There are assorted car parts, motorcycle parts and a few odds and ends that not even I know where they are from, but they are part of the garage and vital to its essence. The Missus: “Well what is that for? Have you ever used it?” Me: “My dear, sweet, beautiful wife, I have no idea what that is, but I do know I need it. Or, more accurately, The Man Cave needs it.” Even if all the undefined part does is sit at the back of the top shelf, it is fulfilling its purpose in The Man Cave. It adds to the ambiance of the Cave, much like the numerous motorcycle posters adorning the walls. I will help keep the house clean, but my wife has agreed to let me keep the garage the way my man brain wants to see it: full of really cool stuff. A little bit of dirt on the floor, an oily rag or two tossed in the corner for when I need one in a hurry, a mitre saw with a covering of sawdust – all says one thing: a man resides here. The Missus ventures out to The Cave once in a while, but usually does not stay long. Perhaps she does not like the smell of grease and oily rags, but to a man it is like a gear head potpourri. She has given up on The Man Cave being anything more than it is, and we are both OK with that. It is for men, real men, now if you will excuse me this real man promised his wife they would watch a movie. Does anyone know what Beaches is about?

1 comment:

Just a Dad said...

nice i am still trying to figure out how come my man cave is the storage for EVERYTHING except for what i put in there because it damn well did not look like that last time i was in there