So here's the deal.
My name is Dave Fleet. No, I am not Mountain Man David from Northern Pennsylvania who does the cool "You Tube" reviews and has the incredible website you are on now. I am just lucky enough to be his friend. Hey, the next best thing to being a rock star is knowing one, right?
If you are like me, you probably spend time on this site and recommend it to your friends because it's a cool place, jam packed with interesting stuff. This web site is a retreat where we men can go and forget our "honey do list", and the upcoming dentist appointment we are dreading, and the boss who seems to have his undies in a wad every day. And because this site is so cool, when Dave asked me to start writing a weekly article for the “MAN STUFF”, I just had to jump at the chance.
"MAN STUFF!" Boy I like the sound of that.
Whenever I can breathe extra deep, and take in pure testosterone, without the influence of estrogen, I am all over it. Not that I don't love my wife, because I really do. Heck, if I didn't love her I wouldn't take out the garbage, and do the dishes, and give her those God awful gross foot massages she likes. But do you know what? Sometimes we men gotta draw the line, retreat to the man cave, and be alone... or at least in a woman proof, gals not allowed environment, where we can gather our wits and hang with other guys.
Let's face it. There is just something macho about Sunday afternoon football in a guys only, womanless setting. It's great!
We can belch. We can fart. We can even leave the toilet seat up in the bathroom for a few hours. Dang it fellas, that just feels good once in awhile, doesn't it? I know life is busy and we get wore down at times. Sometimes we stupidly think we can live without those gender separated times, then something out of the blue reminds us that we can't.
Like with me.
I remember the first time I took my wife up in one of the elevated shooting houses on our farm. It was midway through the rifle season, and because there was a foot of snow on the ground, I had twenty deer a night just hammering on 3 acres of standing corn I had planted that spring. Whackin' and stackin' deer would be like takin' candy from a baby. Man, I love it when a plan comes together.
Then it happened.
We climbed up the ladder into our ambush spot, and the first thing out of my wife's mouth was, "Look at all the dead flies in here! That's disgusting. I'm bringing the little rechargeable vacuum up here next time." I was stunned. No, bugged is a better word. No pun intended. Flies? I bring you into my sacred place, with two swiveling office chairs and a propane heater, and you have the nerve to complain about dead flies on the floor? What da?!!!
See guys, that's what I mean.
Our wives and girl friends just don't get it.
Of course we don't clean up the doggone flies. They add to the manliness of what we do and who we are. So what if they seem to be a half inch deep and crunch under our boots. It's rustic. It's primitive. It's the man cave, and that's the way we like it, because we are guys. Geez Louise woman, quit your naggin'! Anyway, you get my point. I better stop before I get really worked up. And besides that, I am running out of space because Survival Dave the rock star put limits on me.
But before I go I need to come clean and set the record straight.
I actually did come to middle ground with my wife on the dead flies thing, and swept the floor in all six of our shooting houses. Call it love. Call it hen pecked. Call it the fact that she is my favorite hunting partner so I baby her to no end. Call it anything you want. The bottom line is this; Cleaning up the man cave a little is a small price to pay in exchange for hanging out with the best gal on the planet. Til' next time, keep it real!