For a solid 13 years, I have been seething with envy. Why? My husband has a Man Cave. I want a Man Cave. Woman Cave … you know what I mean.
I always thought it was a little unfair. Where is a girl supposed to go for a little down-time?
Then, one day, I was sneaking in some me time in my husband’s Man Cave, mindlessly eating cheese and caramel corn like a screech monkey, watching a marathon of “Deadly Women,” when something magical happened.
A State Farm commercial came on. A woman named Sheryl was agonizing over a fire in her SHE SHED. The words rang like glorious music to my ears. “A ‘She Shed’?” I wondered. “Is that really a thing?”
I did a little research and, sure enough, She Sheds are a thing. The oldest reference I could find on Google was made in 2015. I only looked at the first page of results because who really cares? The point is, I had just gotten a green light to create my own, private wonderland of girliness.
There was one little problem. At our former house, I had nowhere to put a shed – the yard was pretty sloped, so that was out.
I had almost given up until we moved and I found a prime location in our new house. To some, it may be just a basement/laundry room. To me, this little below-grade sanctuary, festooned with fantastic ‘50s asbestos tile flooring, is a dream come true.
As I type this, our good friend, Max, is hanging cheap beadboard paneling on the walls in my den of awesome. I could have just painted the walls, but that posed a lot of problems as they are covered in some sort of cement layered over cement block. They are the most unusual shade of green I have ever seen. I researched what it would take to fix the walls and decided that the easiest, cutest thing was a little paneling.
I covered the asbestos floor with a little cheap laminate, tossed in a pretty lousy, old electric fireplace and some other leftover what-not furniture from my last house and, voila! I have my own private she space.
Sure, the laundry room is down here, but so is my sweet work bench. Yes, I have an actual work bench that is packed with glitter and crafting supplies. I also have a real toolbox and a drill.
What excited me most about this project was the idea of having a little place that I could escape to where no one would question why I “need” so many pillows, or complain about things being too frilly, or leave half-empty pop cans and fast-food wrappers behind.
I now have just one little problem: my husband wants to spend time in my shed, and not because he wants to do some laundry. He thinks it’s cozy down there.
I’m not giving up. I’ll keep adding frills and glitter – I may even resort to lavender-scented candles. I will make Sheryl from the State Farm commercial proud.
