#201. or, Don't call it a Man-Cave.

  As it was explained to me, the whole idea made me, for lack of a better word, giddy.

  Since The Boy is the only son that remains in our house, we have a spare bedroom in the basement, and one on the main level. We could renovate that main level bedroom. Rip out the 30 year old carpet and put down laminate. Paint the walls a manly hue. I could put up all my little treasures that remind me of days long since forgotten. Create a space where I could immerse myself in all of my mind calming, inspiring junk and perhaps, sit at my computer and churn out blog post masterpieces, the likes of which the world has never seen.

  The more I thought about it, the grander this room became.

  I could add a bathroom vent fan which would give me the opportunity to smoke the occasional cigar in the winter, while sitting in a leather bound chair, sipping the finest of Scotches in my red velvet smoking jacket and feel the pages of actual books on my fingers as I read from all the great masters.

 This was going to be freaking awesome! The best man-cave, EVER!

  So we got right to work on it.

  Two years ago.

  Don't get me wrong here. An undertaking of this magnitude requires careful planning. It takes time to accumulate just the right furnishings to put together a room that says a brilliant mind exercises its synapses in here, but also I'm more than happy to play LEGO Star Wars video games all night. It's a fine line to walk, and I wanted to feng shui the shit out of it.

  I acquired a leather recliner. Not a new one, but one that came with its own history. Leather, softened by countless butts so I wouldn't have to be distracted by that new recliner smell, or with the inconvenience of needing to create that, this-is-a-chair-for-thinking, time worn look myself. Also it was free, so that played a big part in the decision making.

  We found a small desk to write at, which became a much larger desk with the addition of a pine table that had been hiding in our basement for about ten years. In turn, my desktop computer was added to type my posts into. Then I added a second screen so I could monitor all of social media while I typed out those posts. Plus a desk chair that looks remarkably like an antique tractor seat, because it was uniquely fitting to the persona I've created for myself. And it turns out, it's about as comfortable as you'd expect an antique tractor seat to be, too.

  I used to do my work in my lovely wife's office, and as I moved my things from her office, where I practiced the clutter and stacks of paper method of keeping track of things, she busied herself cleaning and reorganizing her stuff.

  It was about that time when I began to notice that my man-cave was starting to look less man-cavey and more man-officey. Probably due to the, clutter and stacks of paper, method of organizing things I had mentioned earlier.

  I'm beginning to think this whole man-cave idea that my wife came up with was a cleverly concocted plan to get me and my junk out of her office. The other day, I may have walked in on her hugging her newly cleaned desk and giggling to herself, but I can't be sure.

  If that's the case, it only took her two years to play this whole idea out, and I'm not about to cross a woman with that kind of patience and commitment to a plan.

  ...........I'll be hiding in my man-cave.