I live in my house, but it's not really MY house. I had very little to do with the colors on the walls, the styles of window treatments, or which bells and which whistles were added to the appliances. All of those calls were my wife's to make.
And really, I'm fine with that. And I suspect most hapless guys like me are.
But, and this is a big but....
I'm starting to get peeved about a part of the house that was supposed to be mine. Most notably at the fact that said part of the house DOESN'T YET EXIST!
The Man-Cave.
"The what?" You might ask
My Man-Cave. A sanctuary of my very own; Spartan yet oddly luxurious, tough but comfortable. All I want is a room, somewhere within walking distance of my house, with a couch, a TV, and a giant picture of John Wayne.
I don't think I'm being unreasonable, but it seems that forces are conspiring against me on my quest.
Background:
My wife and I own 5 acres of land, including a house and two barns. One of which is an old pig barn. When we bought the place, we both agreed that we could do pretty much whatever we wanted with it. I mean, 5 acres is a lot of land for a family of three, and so our imaginations ran wild.
Pretty quickly, I was informed(this is how things work) that the pig barn would be turned into a potting shed/chicken coup. Both a garden and chickens had been agreed upon before, but now the barn was essentially occupied, and I was beginning to wonder if I was getting fleeced.
So, in the interest of compromise, I looked elsewhere for a suitable dude-lair(Also, I usually lose arguments with my wife). The most logical place was our basement. As of now, our basement consists of three rooms, one of which would work wonderfully for my purposes.
"Nay," Said my wife. "That room's being used to grow stuff for the garden from seedlings."
"You have to do that?" I asked.
I have not words to describe the face that was my answer.
And I was back to square one....
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