My man is in his ManCave. I just got back. A little out of
breath, so forgive any typos...I thought, you know, that I had it figured out.
I must admit the nice weather made me a little more adventurous than usual. It
started out innocuous enough. "Do you care what's for dinner?" (I
know he cares. I can't cook. I burnt a pan's Kevlar coating clean off boiling
water last Tuesday. True story.) Obviously this is not a real domestic act of
kindness, but a fair warning that if we don't order Chinese, he may have food poisoning.
Forever. So that's why I was in the ManCave.

In the ManCave are tempting things. Two motorcycles in separate versions of
disrepair. Oh sorry...in various degrees
of impending upgrade....and so I can't help but sit on the leathery seat
and "vroom vroom" with my wrists while asking questions about dinner
and if he likes my hair this way or that. I can't tell if he's listening,
because he's bent over a chest of shiny things. He calls it a tool box.
Phbbthhttt! WHATEVER. Treasure Chest of Shiny Things!!! HELLO? I put my glue
gun in there with apparently still glueyness happening, and you'd have thought
I set the world on fire when he came in with his two antique chisels bound
together. (Remind me never to roll my eyes at anything in or around his
"tool box"). It's only some wimpy-ass glue, just a pull and.....they
come apart. One lost a handle, but they were defiantly TWO SEPERATE entities
after. I fixed it and got zero credit. Zero. Maybe I need to start fusing
things together more often so he can appreciate me more!

He didn't answer what I wanted for dinner, but I had forgotten because he has a
few drills in there. I guess some "drill bits" are more SPECIAL than
others, because if you try to drill through a hard hat....well, that's another
no-no. There's no fricken rules on the wall. There needs to be some order in
there if he wants his stuff all perfect. He obviously isn't in to decorating,
what with all the saw dust, so what would a list of "do's and don'ts"
hurt? Don't drill plastic with my bits. Six simple words for those of us that
don't know!

Did you know you could lose a finger on the table saw? I know. Not because I'm
talking to you with nine fingers, but because every time I turn that thing on,
all I hear is, "Such and such lost a finger in '96 doing that"...or
"that's a good way to lose a finger"....or "do you like your
fingers? Because you could lose one doing that". I showed him one that was
perfectly good and still in tact.

I thought the ManCave was where men went to feel good and be happy. Not when
I'm in there! It's like Grumpy McGrump Grump needs a good hump hump because he
is NEVER happy when I touch his bits. I can't believe I typed that. I can touch
his bits ANYwhere else, but in the ManCave. I know because I'm constantly
handing him bits from the washing machine. You'd think he'd be grateful, but
noooooo....clean bits don't make him happy either. I can't check EVERY pocket.
Some things get away from me. Like the cell phone. But he fixed that. At the
kitchen table. I asked if we could go to the ManCave to fix it, but he didn't
say anything then either. That makes me wonder if something happens to his
tongue when I do laundry or sit on his bikes.

You know what? There's a sign up NOW.

It says "Cori" and it's in a circle with a slash through it. Right on
the door. That's it. I'm COOKING tonight.