I told The Boys yesterday morning that I was taking over the mancave and no one was to bother me. I have been working on a certain project for a very long time (a year, to be exact, which is a record for me, a person who has the attention span of a 2-year-old and can't finish a project to save her life), and I knew the only way I would be able to get it done was to lock myself into the only room not on a regular traffic-route in our house. I was going to camp out for the day, rough it in the land of boy smells and tacky decor.
They didn't readily argue, since play-off games were going on and the TV in the living room is much bigger than that in the mancave, but they made sure to tell me that it was a mancave, it wasn't meant for women, and I wasn't to touch anything in there.
As if I'd want to.
Scott left to go biking with old neighbor J-Dawg, and I reminded him that, when he got home, he was not to bother me. (side note: I totally gave up a day on the trail to finish this little project, that's how dead-set I am on getting it done...plus, it's been raining a lot lately, so the trails are wet and I don't do mud).
So I can see why, after he arrived home and slammed the front door loudly enough for people in China to hear that he was home, the first thing that came to his mind was to come show me how muddy he was.
I gave minimal eye contact to show him how busy I was with my project. He took the hint and left.
But then an hour later, he sent me a text message saying he was going to be coming up to the mancave to get something in a few minutes.
He totally interrupted my nap (I know I was supposed to be working, but it was Sunday and God hates it when you don't take naps on his day, and I don't want to evoke the wrath of God on my head, not when I'm this close to so many big things) to ask me what I was doing for lunch.
I told him to figure it out and text me when the food was ready.
An hour later, I had no text and a grumbly stomach, so I wandered downstairs to find a pizza on the counter that was partially eaten and cold.
He could interrupt me to show me dirt but not to give me life-sustaining nutrients?
He's such a boy.
He left me alone after that, and, 10 hours and 2 crossed-eyes later, I emerged from the mancave with less than one-third of my project finished but with slightly more hair and slightly less feelings, having absorbed some of the excess manergy (man energy) in the air up there.
I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm going to be in man territory for the next 3 days while I knock this fucker out ("this fucker" being the project).
I'm only hoping that I don't absorb enough testosterone to start leaving the toilet seat up or discreetly adjusting my junk in public (FYI, guys, it's never NOT noticeable when you do that).
Today, at least, I'm fighting the manergy with flowers and a vanilla-scented candle.
Wish me luck.
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