I was reading posts about those twenty-something girls who think we’re drooling over them, and it reminded me of something...

Early last summer, a group of us guys—all around 45 and pretty well-off—got together at a sauna to have some beer and barbecue. After we’d had a few drinks, one of our «armchair philosophers» asked: «Guys, what if a fairy showed up right now and offered you a week on a deserted tropical island? You’d have a fridge fully stocked with beer, whiskey, and great snacks, and a choice: spend the week with a smoking-hot, insatiable babe who’s up for anything, or spend it alone with your favorite hobby (a PS5, a killer gaming rig, top-notch fishing gear and a great boat, a rifle and an island full of animals for the hunters, etc.)?» Seven out of the eight chose the hobby over the woman. The eighth guy chose the girl—but that’s a whole other story; he loses his mind whenever he sees a woman and doesn't care who he sticks it in—when he finally kicks the bucket, we’re going to brew Viagra out of him.

The conclusion? We don't really need those young flirts all that much; it’s better to spend your time doing exactly what *you* enjoy.

«Wasting time» might be one of the strangest accusations we've ever invented. Apparently you can waste 2:00 p.m. by sitting under a tree doing nothing. The afternoon was going to pass either way. The Earth was going to rotate either way. But because you didn't convert those hours into money, errands or improvement, we decided the time itself was wasted. As if simply being alive isn't enough to justify an afternoon

I’m 39 now, but I still feel 18 inside. We’re all just kids dealing with things, trying to navigate a world that feels more complicated every day. I miss the old-school way of doing things.

I remember being 19 and not working, just chilling. I went down to my dad’s job to visit him, and his boss was standing outside with a cigar and his old-school Chevy Corvette. There was no HR back then—just a payroll lady who didn't have a say in anything but your paycheck.

The boss just looked at me and asked what I was doing.

I said, «Nothing.»

He said: «Come back tomorrow, I'll put your ass to work.»

That was it. No long talk, no poetic moment. Just a grown man talking straight to a teenager. No one complained, no HR was called, and no one was offended. I showed up, and I worked.

Simpler times.