Trouble

It all started with a couch, and I wasn't worried. M has a good-sized finished basement he doesn't really use, and the purchase of a couch for said basement seemed reasonable enough. It's a nice couch, a big couch, and it's been a good spot for us to cozy up and watch a movie on his basement TV. But then came the TV. Which seemed strange. Because he already had a basement TV. But he went ahead and bought a new one. A bigger one. A much bigger one. It's now mounted on the wall in front of the new couch, and I knew something was brewing.

Then came an announcement last week that I wasn't quite prepared for.

M: "I bought a pool table today."
T:

I couldn't even respond right away. A pool table? He also mentioned getting his dart board set up, and it was at this point that the full vision of his man cave became apparent. I don't know what it is about the man cave, but I don't like it. And I know this isn't fair. He is, after all, a man. And I don't even live there. So what concern is it of mine? I guess it's just what the addition of a carefully constructed man cave implies: That he will want to spend time in it. And throw parties at which scores of other pool table-loving friends of his will flood his basement and take up his evenings. Feeling myself becoming Harold Hill as I thought about it further, when I finally gathered my thoughts enough to say anything, that's what I asked him. What, exactly, he would be doing with this basement. True to introvert form, my fear is that it will drastically change our life and introduce way more sociality than I prefer. And all involving an activity for which I feel absolutely no amount of endearment. And also suck at. Clearly he is either closing his eyes to a situation he does not wish to acknowledge, or he is not aware of the caliber of disaster indicated by the presence of a pool table in his basement.

With a capital T, people.

.