What a man.

I'm glad that Alex lives with three guys. Now, most girlfriends might be a little grossed out by the frat house atmosphere and lack of home decor. Not me: I rejoice in it. But for good reason.

On weekends when Alex visits me at my parents' house, he is subjected to a flood of estrogen-fueled activity. There are marathon Say Yes to the Dress and What Not to Wear viewings-- so far, I have spared him from the Real Housewives, but I may or may not have forced the finale episode of The Bachelorette. There are kitchen table talks with my mom about weight loss tactics and bad haircuts. There are shopping adventures and lots of self-taken photo sessions. There are chocolate binges followed by hours of lamenting and complaining about the snugness of my jeans. Instead of picking me up for a date, there's quite a bit of channel surfing while I scream from my closet that I have nothing to wear.

You can see why my dad escapes into projects in his workshop and endless rounds of golf. But Alex doesn't have that luxury, I'm afraid.

I have come to this conclusion based on two comments made this weekend:

While watching Say Yes to the Dress: Atlanta, Alex commented on Monty, the resident Gay Man in the salon, saying, "What's happening with Monty's hair? Tim Gunn would not stand for this." Tim Gunn is, of course, the resident Gay Man on Project Runway.

After using my bathroom to shower, 'I feel different after I use your shower. My roots are "awakened." My skin is "exfoliated" and "invigorated." My shower stuff just says "shampoo" and "body wash."'

I might would worry that I'm creating my very own Tim Gunn-- not that I would mind a resident Gay Man hanging around to pick out my clothes and style me perfectly-- except that I know my man to exist almost solely on red meat and live almost solely for the Crimson Tide. I also know that he plays a different sport every night and celebrates life's various events with a good cigar and a cold beer. I know too that I'll get what's coming to me once Sports Center starts its endless coverage of college football; then I won't be able to casually flip the television to my beloved TLC.

Meanwhile, I'm glad that Alex gets to return home to a house saturated with testosterone, where he can quickly regenerate any masculinity he may have sacrificed over the weekend. When you put four men in a house, you can smell the musk of manliness as you walk through the front door. At least... that's what I'm going to assume that smell is.