If there is testosterone in your house that comes in the spousal or sig/other two-legged form rather than in a tube as part of your HRT, then you know that they need their caves. It might be a basement or a garage or a den or a home office. They just have to have that space all their own.
And, what they do with it is always interesting, sometimes shocking and a Godsend to get them out of our hair for hours at a time. Women are adaptable enough to use the rest of the house to be creative. We can weave our magic in a bathtub or with headphones on in a meditation chair. We can create in front of Oprah on TV or sitting at the kitchen bar with our day planner.
But, the mens have to have a room, their room, no lace allowed, no questions and no Honey Do lists. They might spend hours doing absolutely nothing but watching golf on TV. They might be tinkering with the latest electronic equipment that they don't understand anymore than we do. They may be napping just because they can.
And, speaking of napping, may I humbly suggest that you put a nice, comfy bed in their man cave so they can sleep in there every night! If you have a snorer, hawker, farter or sleep apnea fella, this is to preserve your own sanity and good health. It will take some finessing to convince him that this was really his idea and that all REAL men have their own rooms. You might Google seperate bedrooms and see what you can come up with as rationale. I'm just speaking from experience. And, it feels good not to have to hold your stomach in underneath your nightgown...to be able to read until the wee hours without hearing sucking, choking sounds next to you in bed. Your cat will love you all the more for this, and you can rest assured that your partner is hibernating in his own comfy, cozy, manly way.
SalGal and I have actually created our own Magic She Room where we create every day. We burn incense and great-smelling candles, we have a bulletin board up with affirmations and successes (like a copy of the MORE magazine article). There is a daybed in this room where our cats, Dammit, Odessa and Buddy can sleep to the sounds of our laughter. Our TV is tuned to the morning news shows and then Ellen Degeneres, not ESPN and after Ellen, we turn off the TV and turn on beautiful classical music. This She room is actually our own man cave away from the Ancient One who is always on the couch watching Fox News. She knows better than to set foot in our Magic room without an invitation. It's the only way we can hold our sanity with her Motherness omnipresent throughout the rest of the house.
I write to you this very morning from the desk in our Magic She room in my jammies with Dammit looking at me from the bed, all curled up and happy. Diane Sawyer is giggling on Good Morning America and SalGal has yet to awaken. Life is good and I am happy and I haven't even brushed my teeth yet.
Well, I'm awake now and in the magic room. That's so true about the man cave. They have to have it. It's good for them.
Wouldn't you love to design your own private 'have fun room'? What would it be like? Mine would have all white walls and KK's idea is that we and anybody who wants to could paint the walls. I would paint monkeys and palm trees and huge, tropical flowers on a pale green background. I have a friend who wants to paint penises and that's okay as long as they are circumcised. I don't think penises are all that pretty but maybe we could turn them into bananas or zucchinis after she leaves.
I would have a full bar with lots Cuervo Gold, rums, Chevis etc. And Pearl beer. I love Pearl beer. And a big fridge filled with lime and salt for the tequila shots, Bries and pates from France, and pork rinds and Doritos. People need sustenance while they are painting.
And of course we would need music. Garth Brooks is good and the Gregorian chants. Show tunes - West Side Story, Les Mis and The Jungle Book. And I would have a small Kareoke stage so we can sing.
See, this is all girl stuff and no mens allowed to ruin our fun. We want to laugh and giggle while we dance to 'Grease'. We want to drink martinis with no thoughts of how we look. We want to scream out the window, 'Fuck you Bill Cinton and all you other cheatin' assholes!'
And then we want to dress up all gorgeous and go out with the boys.
It all evens out,