Guy rant...no particular reason.

I live with three women, my wife and two adult daughters. They really are the light of my life, and every night I thank God for them. They are each amazing women in their own right. I cherish my relationship with each of them, and cherish each moment I have with them.
As the only guy in the house, sometimes my priorities and motivations are foreign to them, as I know that theirs are to me.
For a guy the following things are important, and in no particular order: Food, sleep, sex, bathroom time with newspaper, beer, clean car, power tools, mowed lawn, fire pit, football, and dog. We basically can walk around the house in the same boxers for a week, and pretty much all of our thoughts and motivations are from the list above. Some guys may add or delete some of the items above, but the essential list of human animal needs and toys pretty much summarizes the thought.
Guys do not get excited about the following: Shoes, malls, clothing sales, jewelry, telephone, Facebook, Desperate Housewives, scented candles, new neighbors, and pocket book knock-offs.
In my bathroom, I have a drawer. It contains everything that I need for grooming: mouthwash, anti-perspirant, hair brush, razor, Vicks vapo-rub, hair gel, Tums, nail clipper, and after shave lotion. The draw above mine is like an archaeological dig. It contains about one hundred containers of colored stuff that somehow ends up in strategic places on my wife's body. There are all sorts of brushes, and tools that are used somehow with the colored stuff.
Then there is another drawer that has our toothpaste and toothbrushes in it. Also in this drawer are cotton swabs and a bag of cotton balls. Ok, so I do use the swabs after I shower to dry my ears, but what the hell are the cotton balls for? All these little white monsters ever do is attack my toothbrush from time to time. They are sneaky little bastards that usually attack in the morning when I least expect it, and my eyes are not opened yet.
I have a workshop in my basement that has all of my hand and power tools in it. The room is fairly organized and clean, and most of the tools have their place on peg boards. Sometimes when I go into the workshop, I find that a tool has been used for some alternate reason. One day I found a precision, delicate wood chisel had been used to open a paint can. That chisel has since been retired. For the record, the cheap paint can opener that they give you when you buy a gallon of paint is safe and sound. And where the hell are all my needle-nosed pliers?
Let me just say that I would gladly give up all of my power tools, and never watch another football game again if my wife or daughters needed me to as a sacrifice to the gods. I will gladly take them to the mall to go shoe shopping, smell a hundred different candles at the candle factory, and I will sit through another Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston chick flick if it makes them happy. All I ask in return is to please call off the cotton balls and return my needle-nosed pliers.