The Workshop, The Kitchen

The basement workshop is a
construct of multi-dimensions.
No home should be without one.
Each such becoming a micro-
institution of primary value to
the longevity of a marriage.

Where the male beast may seek
his retreat in the nether regions, as
distant from the female of the species
in her kitchen doing the work of
domestic chemical science, as possible.

There, down below, with the
arcane tools as foreign to the wife
as an egg-beater is to her husband, can
the male indulge in his hands-on
exploration of manly stimulation.

Power tools or their rude elderly
cousins; hand implements foster the
fond myth of man-the-manufacturer,
inventor, creative genius transforming
his environment to reflect his needs.

The kitchen and the work shop,
defining delineations of normative
society's expectations, that few ever
plan to over-ride in iconoclastic
role-reversals nature is loath to permit.

More, the genders of inexplicably
confused misunderstandings tacitly,
emphatically agree that as no house
can be a home without its kitchen,
so too is a home not complete

without a basement workshop. Where
the sturdy ego of the male may retreat
when the dog house is otherwise
companionably fully occupied. That
complementary, occasionally abrasive
domestic brace; the chemist in the

kitchen, the inventor in the workshop
investing in elusive harmony
sometimes miraculously succeeding
and rewarding the world with the
perpetuation of the human species.
Or, on many an occasion, not.