Confessions of an Urban Single Mom … The Man Cave

As the Urban Single Mom and Single Woman of the last 50 000 years, I never thought that during my tenure as Momma Bear to The Trolls I would ever have to deal with the Man Cave: A completely unapologetic physical space reserved only for the physically larger, cruder and smellier sex.

When I think Man Cave, I think loud noises, foul smells, sexist jokes and dirty socks.

I think pool tables, video games and empty beer cans.

I think lazy boys, sport memorabilia and FHM magazines.

I think of a ‘no women allowed’ kind of zone.

I also think it’s silly, patriarchal and have always known that I would not be one of those women who would be able to allow my man to have his little cave.

Because families should rough it out together and you can’t run off and go sulk in your special little space just because things aren’t going your way.

But mostly I think my aversion to the Man Cave really just stems from the fact that that I don’t like untidy places. And if it forms part of the household structure. With my extreme obsessive-compulsive tendencies, I will probably end up feeling personally responsible for cleaning up a space that I did not help make dirty.

Until all hours of the day and night.

Because I can’t sleep if something is stacked skew or not correctly fluffed up or not perfectly straightened.

There is nothing though like Ol’ Father Time to change things about your personality you once thought were set in stone.

That girl who likes her house spotless and thinks it’s silly that men have their own little space where whatever they choose goes?

Yeah… she’s been gone for a while.

How did it happen?

Gradually, that’s how.

Years and years of dealing with ridiculous amounts of dirt and destruction caused by The Trolls eventually became the straw that broke The Single Mom’s back.

So who am I now?

I’m the girl who actually begs them to go to their rooms and stay there. For absolutely as long as they wish.

Now I’m the girl who ignores the screams and wails that travel from that part of the house, and actually prefer it if their room door remains locked.

Now I’m the girl who looks at the sign that says ‘No Girls. Especially No Moms’ written in Troll 1’s handwriting and smile the smile of a woman who secretly loves the fact that she’s not invited to the party.

I have looked at both devils, folks, and I have chosen the lesser evil.

The trolls have a Man Cave that is disgusting and smells like peanut butter and smelly socks … and I have four fifths of a house that looks like an actual house.

I ignore whatever happens in that room and speak to them through the door… and it works.

For all three of us.

Turns out turning a blind eye and ear and allowing The Trolls to be their disgusting selves every now and then actually allows me to be my girly self in the process.

– urbansinglemom@gmail.com

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