I’m used to living in a household full of men. A husband, an 18-year-old and a 16-year-old. Manland. My daughter moved years ago and left my there all by myself – the only girl in a land filled with dirt, which they are determined to track into the house.
In Manland, the toilet seat is always up, there are various pairs of sneakers and work boots by the back door to trip over, dust is something you write in and everyone wants big hunks of meat for supper. The men have no concept of the difference between towels to use and towels for pretty in Manland, but they can tell you the difference between a 1967 and a 1968 automobile of almost any make and model.
Because the men are of varying ages, I have to deal with both whiskers in the sink and Axe body wash in the shower. Fishing equipment on the rocking chair and Gameboys on the end table. The Pabst Blue Ribbon fights for space in the fridge with bizarre energy drinks.
The TV channel is usually on ESPN or some other sports oriented show, or on MTV or some other music oriented show.
Any conversation that isn’t yelled across the house from one room to another or up and down the stairs takes place in the kitchen, because I always seem to be feeding someone in Manland.
But this weekend is going to be strange. The men are all heading off to various places.
Eric is somewhere is Wisconsin watching something race. Nick is off to Rochester to visit his girlfriend. Matt is staying with a buddy and heading up to Warp Tour.
The only male I’ll have to deal with is Jeffrey the dog, who rarely moves the toilet seat and never leaves his sneakers right in front of the door. The only towel he ever uses is the one hanging on the refrigerator door. (Really. He wipes his face off after drinking out of his bowl. We leave it exclusively for him these days. If it isn’t there, he uses our pants leg or the couch.)
No men in Manland? I’m not sure what I’ll do.
I could eat salad. Or I could eat a meal totally consisting of appetizers, or just grab something whenever I’m hungry and not because three other stomachs are on a schedule.
I could clean the house and watch it stay that way for a day or two. I could hang up pretty towels and not find them being used as a bath mat the next morning. I could take the various tools out of my kitchen drawers and off the kitchen counters and put them back in the garage, thus proving they don’t migrate indoors on their own.
I could get a lot accomplished because I woudn’t be constantly interrupted during a project by someone needing a meal or a dollar or an opinion or a lost article of clothing or a basic household item or companionship while he changes the oil in the lawnmower.
I could also just lie around and enjoy music I like or watch chick flicks, figuring if everyone else gets to go play this weekend, I at least get to be lazy.
I’ll play the whole thing by ear and see what I feel like doing.
(I thought about spending a few hours playing the drums with no one around to complain, but was informed last night that Matt broke Tink, my drum set. One of Tink’s toms broke off. Eric said he would fix it before he left, but I’m reasonably sure that didn’t happen. He’ll have to be reminded at least 10 times first. After all, it’s just my drum set. It’s not something important like a fishing pole.)
One thing I do know for sure — I will be able to get off the couch without someone saying, “Where are you going? Will you bring me back a snack?”
I’m actually looking forward to a little peace and quiet. I ask for it every year for Christmas and my birthday, and no one has ever delivered.
Oh, who am I kidding? By Saturday night I’ll be having meaningful conversations with Jeffrey and trying to figure out how to hook up the Wii because it will seem so quiet – not like Manland at all.