ALL BYYYY MYYYSELLLFFFF...

I'm alone.

Every now and then my wife, Lily will go out of town for one of her motivational conferences, leaving me alone in our house. Or as I call it, "Bachelorstock." When I know it's on the schedule, it feels like Christmas Eve.

Because, while I am a man in love... and while, yes, my work does focus on romance, I am also what they call... male.


So when my wife packs her bag and leaves the house, I always give her a loving kiss goodbye and tell her that I'll miss her. Then as the car turns the corner at the end of the street, I'll do a Rocky Balboa victory stance and head back into the house.

Because from this moment on, for a duration of "Bachelorstock," this humble abode is the Man Cave.



Okay, maybe that didn't sound right... but... you know what I mean.

In the Man Cave, I get to do whatever I want. In the case of food, I get to make myself the one dish I never make around my vegetarian, health-conscious wife. It's my death-row meal and will love till the day I leave this earth.

It's my mom's meatloaf. It's a beautiful thing of beef and pork, sauteed veggies consisting of onions, carrots, celery, garlic annnnnnnd.... wait for it... fennel.

Yeah, you heard me mo-fo's.

Fennel.

It's all thrown together with an egg, some ginger bbq sauce, oregano, salt, pepper and sourdough bread crumbs and then thrown into a mold, followed by two strips of bacon.


It is heaven just to make.

It's meat sex.

It's all the wrong food groups having an orgy in a loaf pan.

Let some time pass and there's a smell that makes you swear your nose is having orgasms. The first wave that hits you is like pure love and calls to you in ways you forgot could be possible.

I'm not shitting you. This meatloaf is Jean Grey in her Phoenix form.

And here's the other thing that makes this "Bachelorstock" a beautiful thing. You can't just have a slab of the most perfect meatloaf ever made and still say you're in the Man Cave. Because that's only a part of the man meal.

Got meatloaf...? Well then you'd better have homemade mashed potatoes with garlic and cheese in it. It'd better be run through a potato ricer to give it air.

This allows you to place the meatloaf of the gods onto a nice bed of mashed potatoes, with the ginger bbq sauce poured over the whole thing. It's basically your taste buds version of Scarlett Johansson making out with Eva Mendes.


But ooooooh, that's not all, baby.

That's not it at all.

You ready...?

Homemade strawberry shake.

There. NOW you have the man meal.

Take it in slow, my friend. You have to do it in baby steps. But I understand, it's a lot to hear.

Dinner is then followed by playing Ghostbusters for a few hours.


It's the greatest fun EVah.

I watch Conan O'Brien, then Craig Ferguson and usually some HBO movie until 3am or so. And after that, it's time to hit the sack.

I'll look over the night and feel satisfied. A good night. Good shake.

I go to bed, sliding into the covers and finding a position to relax in. Soon I'm laying there, surrounded in silence.

And that's when I start to go nuts.

Because I'm used to sleeping with my wife. I'm used to hearing her sleeping as I come to bed. And I'm used to sliding my arm over the curve of her hips. And I miss her scootching back up against me without waking up. And... well.. yeah.. I miss her blowing kisses to me in the air.

So I lay there.

And the room sort of gets a little too quiet.

I usually, at this point, begin to work the imagination over pretty good.

Such great topics as "What if I die tonight..? Lily won't be home for two days. By the time she returns, I'll be dead and bloated... I don't want her to come home and see me dead and bloated. Dead, yeah, okay. But the bloated part is non-negotiable."

Or I swear I can hear someone in the house. Or I can hear the neighbor come home.

Every night.

Because as much as "Bachelorstock" celebrates married dudes having a night alone, and as awesome as that night is... it also illustrates how incredibly in love I am with my wife. The very person I get excited being away from for a few nights.

When Lily returns, she'll ask me how it went. She'll ask how the meatloaf was, did I tape her shows and did I get high score on the game (she still thinks all video games are "Asteroids." Shut up. It's cute). And when I tell her how great it was, she'll look at me, grin and say in a babygirl voice, "DIDJEWWMISSMEEE..???"

And as stupid as she sounds at that moment, I have to say "yes."