The man cave



I work in a one person office, because I am a cartoonist and that’s what we do. Since it is my own personal studio, my private refuge from the craziness of the world, I get to set it up just like I want.

It is my man cave.

Except it isn’t.

(This is not my man cave – this is from

The manual for male sanctuaries does not – but should – have a chapter on six-year-old daughters. In the spot where I had planned on placing military and sport memorabilia there is a laundry basket overflowing with dolls and furry animals. My specially purchased pens and pencils (something important to cartoonists, and kind of a thing with me) are all missing. The ink stain on the wood floor is not mine.

When I sit down at the laptop, the first thing I do is close out the pony/monkey/dinosaur/little girl cartoon video on the screen. The Civil War documentary I was watching is long gone.

Where I had envisioned wood and olive drab decor, pink and purple have crept in. Rather, they have invaded. As I write this, there is a princess-themed pillow on the floor, along with a coloring/sticker book with a precocious little girl on the cover and a board game based on a children’s animated movie.

I would get upset, I guess, but about the time I feel compelled to take control of my own private man space, I get a little kiss on the cheek.

I guess I can live with pink and purple.


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