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Man Cave?

November 13, 2012 - Ron Deuter
Is anyone else getting sick of the term ‘man cave’ to describe a rec room specifically designed for a man?

I see it everywhere. I think there is even a TV show dedicated to them.

Seriously, man cave?

Sounds like a bar you might find down the street from the Manhole or the Back Door Lounge.

You realize man cave is something women invented just so they could girly up the remaining 99 percent of the house?

WIFE: Sure, honey, because I love you so much, you can have a man cave.

*** TRANSLATION: Yeah, go ahead and take the smallest, darkest corner of the house to put up your old high school football jersey, beer posters and a foosball table.

I, meanwhile, will paint the bedroom purple and put a zillion tiny, little fluffy pillows on the bed that you are not allowed to use. You’ll also need to shower before laying on the 300 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets.

I will fill the bathroom with the scent of fresh lilacs. The entire tub will be lined with candles, and the curtains on the window will be so frilly, you’ll think you’re stepping into a French boutique every time you do your business. And don’t even think about using the decorative soaps or drying with the $50 hand towels. And by the way, those other 15 bottles on the sink are not soap. They are lotion.

Like to drink beer? Now off limits outside of your precious little man space. The fridge in kitchen is reserved for Evian, Yoplait and alfalfa sprouts.

In fact, once you plug in your old mini fridge with the faded Motley Crue and Poison stickers on the door, maybe you should also pull out your ripped, foul-smelling college futon from the attic. Yeah, the one you claim to have once shared with a cheerleader. Because, in all honesty, granting you that tiny space is really just so it’s easier for me to kick you out of the bedroom when you come to bed with beer and stale nacho breath.

Want to have the guys over to your macho dojo for the game? No problem, I’ll just head out to the Lia Sophia party. Don’t mind $250 charge on the credit card for a pair of plastic bracelets and a necklace I’ll never wear. ***



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