I’m A Man’s Man, And I Await The Return Of My Man
I am a Man’s Man. I have always known this. The same way that I instinctively know how to change a tire, field dress a deer, and choose the perfect IPA for your tailgate. These arts come as naturally to me as breathing.
When I emerged from the Plaid Chrysalis, naked and covered in steak sauce, I saw the murals that told me of my creation. How The Man was not meant to be alone, so I was formed from His McRib and leftover sawdust from His last sanding project. In the pictures, we wear matching flannels and stand together in the sky, saying, “How ‘bout them Cowboys?”
I want to know about them Cowboys! But where is The Man?
Alone in the Man Cave, I wait for Him. I do my push-ups. I throw the football to myself. I make a “podcast” by shouting about hammers into an old tape recorder. Perhaps The Man will want to listen to it when He comes back! I play the episodes back during my post-workout recovery meals. It makes me feel like The Man is there.
I feed myself from the walk-in freezer of Hungry Man Dinners. Protein is abundant in the Man Cave — enough to sustain my bulk and His for many weeks. Yet The Man does not return…
