The Guys in the Cabin Next Door

 

Life in the Boomer Lane and a group of her friends rented a couple cabins this past weekend, in a spectacular wooded setting. Briefly imagine, if you will, LBL’s brilliant rendition of women bonding against a backdrop of nature’s endless bounty. Now, let’s cut to the chase: the guys in the cabin next door.

Let us start by backing up: Five women. Three happily partnered, two single. Four of the five have sired and raised children, all of whom are now grown responsible adults (the children, not the women). Since adolescence, no one in the group of women has had a run in with the law, except one who proudly sports a tee-shirt that reads “Nana has a rap sheet.” Women of an age in which the phrase “I’m wet” has taken on a slightly different meaning than it did several decades ago.

Now let us imagine those same women, crushed up against each other, standing on tiptoes on their tiny cabin stoop, trying to figure out why a group of men in the cabin next door are all standing in a room, listening to what appears to be a lecture, complete with slide show, being given by one of their group.

Several large bags of snacks and glasses of wine later, a second, a more careful look reveals that the men are still standing in exactly the same place, still listening to the same speaker, still looking at a slide show.

The women consider various possibilities:

A bachelor party, in which a slide show is substituted for live strippers and sex acts.

A men’s church retreat

A transformational men’s bonding event

A sales retreat of vacuum cleaner bag salesmen

One of the group suggests that the men are terrorists, except she doesn’t think terrorists wear nametags.

The women have not been able to secure a cabin with a hot tub, as these were all spoken for when they reserved theirs. The men have a hot tub and they are not using it, except to walk behind the structure that contains it in order to make phone calls. A suggestion is put forth to wait until the men go to sleep and then sneak over and use the hot tub. The plan is abandoned just in case the men are, indeed, terrorists.

The next morning, the men leave the cabin for the first time, for an impromptu game of whatever it is that males do when they are in groups and are in possession of a ball. The temperature is in the high 80s, and, as they run, toss and catch, this allows the women to make a careful assessment is made of their ages (younger than the women), physique (oh yes), and physical stamina (same). Long discussions are held about the possibilities, and a suggestion is made to make a secret foray up to the back of their cabin to look into the large picture window and to get at the bottom of who they are and what is on the slide show. This is plan is abandoned just in case they are terrorists and have the cabin booby-trapped. Worse, if discovered, the women would be found to have an appalling lack of personal hygiene.

The women take occasional surveillance breaks throughout the weekend to visit charming towns close by and shop, eat, and lounge on the terrace of a just-opened ultra-luxury hotel and spa. (LBL notes that the hotel has several more features than the Red Roof Inn, of which she and Now Husband are aficionados. On the other hand, it lacks vending machines.)

The women are careful to get back to the cabin in time to watch the men, who are again clumped together, listening to a speaker and watching a slide show.

When the women return from the weekend and spouses and other friends ask “How was it?” the answer is, Oh the usual: fun, food, friendship, wine, shopping. Four of the women check the newspaper the next morning for word of terrorist activity. “Nana” checks in with her parole officer.