Every man needs his “man space.” Every woman will inevitably start to take over that cave (unless it is not air-conditioned in South Louisiana). Some give-and-take will occur, then this (once magical and serene) finite amount of volume in the universe shall have a defining lexical change.

Sometimes, it changes from an office into “the computer” room. Sometimes, it may make the semantically demoralizing change from music room (or ambitiously, the studio) to hobby room. Workshops become storage, smoking rooms (ambitiously, “the study”) morph into writing rooms (although writing may still take place mainly in the kitchen), and masturbatoriums evolve into.
..   …well, that’s a sticky subject.

Ours is not that much different; although technically it never had a solid previous delineation, flopping back and forth between office and studio. Once Xiom could not possibly fit all of her toys (and she buries my Star Wars collection) anywhere else, they migrated in to the studio. Still, it was a studio. Her Blythe sewing eventually made it on to an unused desk. Ultimately, a monstrosity of a cabinet (“monstrosity” is only a reflection of its size) was moved in to accommodate the collectibles and that’s when the name of this room came into debate.

Couldn’t call it a hobby room, actual work is done here. Couldn’t call it a sewing room, half of her threadwork is still completed in the bedroom or kitchen (better lighting is sometimes quoted). Crafts room sounds like something found in a kindergarten. Neither office, studio, collectibles, “back,” music, demarc, pr0n, geek, Star Wars, or “Tiny People Village” room seem to fit its purpose now. Much debate ensued. A few more possibilities were vocalized, but I think I had the final say on the subject. Once the words were set free from my lips, there was a silence. It’s like that nickname you didn’t mean to give that girl in high school, but it just eerily fits and now you have to live with being the person who distilled the distinction through a subconscious moment of blurbage.  As much as I’ve tried to erase the audible creations of my tongue with Jedi mind control, things can never be unsaid.

“Why don’t we just call it Mr. Buttersniff.”

(edit) Xiom’s experience of Mr. Buttersniff can be found here (complete with pictures).

http://myownprivatexanadu.blogspot.com/2011/04/collector-and-purveyor-of-childhood.html?showComment=1303247456249#c5097395290777670578