Much ado has been made about the Man Cave. These spaces, dens dedicated to testosterone, beer, meat, sports and scantily clad women, serve as a reclamation of shared space, a declaration and celebration of gender. A semi-official definition of the phrase reads: “man cave n. A dedicated area of a house, such as a basement, workshop, or garage, where a man can be alone or socialize with his friends.” And why not? Men and women are different in some fundamental ways: bits and parts, gaseousness, body hair, and sometimes, if we’re just going to go ahead and be stereotypical, in ways that are split down party lines (as in how we like to party, get down, have fun, do shit with the dude in the place).
I firmly believe in a separate but equal policy of gender politics. Men and women are different. See?
Battle of the Sexy!
Those differences should be celebrated, not ignored, as our equality lies in being able to achieve the same level awesomeness, no matter which path (masculine, farty, corn-nut encrusted) we may take (rose-lined, solid gold, with massaging capabilities).
It is in this spirit of egalitarianism that I present the feminine alternative of the Man Cave, the ode to all things lady-ish and excellent: The Lady Lair.
My Lady Lair Shall Have:
- A giant television. Just like the Man Cave staple, at the center of the Lady Lair will be a big ole screen for watching all the ridiculous things I enjoy (in no particular order, Discovery Channel nature shows, The Celtics, reruns of Charlie’s Angels, I Shouldn’t Be Alive and any time The American President is on … that movie cannot be turned away from, Michael Douglas.)
- Beds. Lots of beds. Like, a big huge giant tiered bed system with different inclines, levels of squishiness, several million pillows and high thread count sheets covered with fluffy duvets.
- Something that reminds us of our childhood. It’s nice to remember back to the day we weren’t disappointed sex objects trying to be thin and successful and married and combat wrinkles with the Oil of Olay Battle Axe moisturizer.
- Something that reminds us of Robert Pattinson. I don’t care that he is super ridiculously lame and probably has no personality and I am kind of a pervy jungle cat for finding him so undeniably attractive, but the man is DELICIOUS.
- The full box set of Saved By The Bell, Sex in the City, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 90210 (none of this remake crap), and, of course, the tragically cancelled My So Called Life.
- A punching bag. Because, well, ish is frustrating sometimes.
- A jaccuzi, sauna and steam room.
- An ice cream cake. That never. Goes. Away.
- My favorite pajamas, replicated 100 times, so I never have to wear anything else.
- A manicurist
- A really hot masseuse in a tuxedo who smells like Aqua Di Gio and feeds me cheese, truffles and champagne in alternating intervals.
- A mechanic, just in case something breaks.
- A dolphin
- A tiger
- A friendly dinosaur who plays fetch and can reach things on high shelves for me
- Tina Fey
Totally doable, right? Right. What would yours have?
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Eryn Ashley has two first names. She likes to tell people what to do. However, if she wants your opinion, she will beat it out of you.