Ladies and gentleman; remember the days when going out at 11pm and drinking/partying/dancing until sunrise was the most fun you could have? I do. Now, it feels like torture. When did that happen? When did I get too old to party? When did a sensible bedtime and comfy pajamas seem like the most fun we’ve ever had? Shit, I can’t even remember when I hit the age limit for going clubbing, if such a thing really exists.
In fact, the folks over at Tick Pick, wanted to find out if there is an upper limit to when we trade in cheap beer and strangers sweating on you, for warm milk and a mystery novel. Turns out, it’s all subjective.
We might just be too old for this shit, or we might not be. It depends on the thing.