You’ve all heard of the “Man Cave”. That mysterious place, usually in a dimly-lit basement, where the men gather to huddle on dark couches in front of an excessively large television. The gathering involves food – the non-utensil kind, and drinks – the alcoholic kind. Growls, grumbles, shouting, and other odd noises rise through the floor.
Women who dare to enter the Man Cave risk being snarled at, unless they come bearing gifts of food and drinks. Even then, the snarling can occur. It takes time for the feral man to take his focus from the television and to re-focus on the woman. When entering the Man Cave the woman must take it slow, let the man focus his attention and realize the offering on the plate, before she fully enters the domain.
Less well-known, but equally as secretive and also known to produce growls, snarls and more from the occupant, is the Wife Cave. The Wife Cave can encompass a space as small as the corner of a couch, a space the size of a small guest bedroom or den, or if the woman is lucky, the size of a basement.
The Wife Cave contains anything from a simple skein of yarn and a hook or anything up to a wall of storage units, various tables, comfortable chairs, sewing machine(s), racks of fabric, and more.
My husband and I are in the process of moving my craft room, aka The Wife Cave, from a spare bedroom down to the finished half of the basement. He plans on picking up a few tables this weekend so that I’ll have room to lay out fabric or crocheted afghan strips. I have several storage cabinets lining one wall holding various craft items, such as my scrapbooking tools and machines, yarn (lots and lots and LOTS of yarn), fabric, cross stitch cloth and thread, and much more.
As with any…dangerous cave…signs must be posted to warn the unsuspecting traveler of the danger within.