Does the “Richard Simmons isn't a real man/is a girly she man” slur ever go out of style? Peter McKay is syndicated so I guess not. Here he is describing the fancy office he built in his backyard (is this really supposed to resonate with the average Pittsburgh resident) which his wife decorated and he used for work purposes:
And somehow, my wife's stuff never made it out. Flowery pictures and ribbons are everywhere. Gingham curtains still hang on the windows.
There's a big bulletin board collage of kids' fingerpaintings, family photos and mementos.
Every surface is covered with cute knickknacks.
One friend called it the Richard Simmons room — male, but only by a technicality.
The other day, I had an electrician out to fix a bad circuit breaker in the garage. He came in, looked around for a minute, then remarked on what a cool idea it was to turn the little building into a room:
“Me, if I had something like this, I'd turn it into a guy's room, you know? Someplace I could get away from the family!” he said.
“Yeah!” I said proudly. “This used to be my wife's office, but now it's my Man Cave!”
He stopped short, clearly a little nauseous that I'd actually used that word to describe it. He suddenly seemed uncomfortable to be alone with me.
“You know!” I said, “like the Batcave, but…”
He looked around the room at the gingham, the dried flower arrangements, the pink sofabed. “You pick out that couch yourself?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
I shook my head sadly. My wife, I explained, had overruled me on that one.
“Hmmf!” he snorted, turning back to the fuse box. “Some Man Cave, pal!”
Oh, ha ha ha. Poor Peter is the hapless victim of his frilly wife and his butch male friends. Well, I'm sure Richard Simmons is jump-jacking his way all the way to the bank, knowing he's made a ton of people healthier and a ton of money, too.
Maybe enough to pick out his own couch.