A Man Cave Has Beer. A Woman Cave Has Wheels.
There’s something quite zen about hopping in your car for a scenic drive. You might be happy, or sad, or angry, or stressed. Whatever your mood, a drive by yourself can detangle your nerves.
By Janis Hirsch
I talk a good game but if you know me for longer than twenty minutes, it becomes abundantly clear that I’m a rube.
Take for instance Virginia Woolf. I know I’ve read a lot of her books, mostly because they’re short, and I probably even liked them but if you put a gun to my head and asked me to tell you what any of them were about, I couldn’t. Never mind that I can reel off the plot of every single episode of “Dallas” or how Barbra Streisand wore her hair on the cover of every one of her albums (only Babs could rock a curly shag on the cover of “Guilty” and live to tell about it); when it comes to important literature, I’m watching Top Chef.
The only hard fact I do remember is that Virginia Woolf thought it was important that a woman have “a room of one’s own” although that was just the title and for all I know, the book was a biography of hotel queen Leona Helmsley. On second thought, I know it wasn’t about Leona because I’d’ve read it if it were.
But the other day my friend DG Fulford connected the Virginia Woolf dots in a great HuffPost piece by noting that while realtors tempt women with closets, they tempt men with man caves. Meaning, men deserve to be alone but only women’s clothing has that right. Why would we need a room of our own? We have the kitchen, don’t we?
You know what else we have? Our cars. Whether you drive the brand new Bentley Mulsanne or a 40 year-old Nissan 510, having your own car is way better then any room – or cave – in the house.
Yes, cars get us where we need to go and yes, once we’re inside them we can sing or eat or sing while eating with impunity. And yes, they hold the canvas tote bags we’ve collected but still forget when we’re in the grocery store and they’re rolling filing cabinets for our Bed, Bath and Beyond coupons, our “buy twelve, get one free” punch cards from stores that have gone out of business during the Clinton administration. But they’re so much more.
I suspect reclining seats were invented with teenage boys in mind. But since I’m not one, I use this incredible feature for the much deserved, much-maligned, mid-drive nap. (Pull over first. Please.)
Years ago, I convinced my best friend that the Tom Cruise/Nicole Kidman movie about bare-hands boxing in Ireland circa 1893 was going to be HUGE. This was in the Dark Ages before you could reserve movie tickets online, which meant we had to drive to what was then the biggest theater in LA – the Cinerama Dome – at least two hours early to beat what I knew would be nearly-catastrophic opening day mobs.
We pulled into the massive parking lot. We were the only car there. Was no one else dying to see Tom Cruise in a newsboy cap? Did no one care that Nicole Kidman’s face was going to be smudged because THAT’S HOW POOR SHE WAS?
No, they did not.