Youth is such an exciting time. Even being in the company of people 25 and under is energizing, refreshing. There is that sense of 
potential, of all the things they will do.
Of course they take so much for granted. That they think they will live forever unlike those of us who have graduated to the front of the line. Also, when they wake up they don’t go through an inventory to see if anything new hurts before attempting to put feet to the floor.
It is fun to listen to the ideas they have and hear them laugh. I love the humour. It is always fresh, that new perspective on things I’d taken for granted. I’m always surprised at how dry and clever they can be because I associate that with my generation.
They are the darlings of media. Fresh, bright, tight faces are everywhere. Other than Betty White, nary a wrinkle or grey hair to be seen. They even killed off the old guy on Walking Dead and he was the only one who made any sense. To me, anyway.
For the purposes of simple rolling in the hay action I can understand why men, regardless of age, become giggling school boys in the presence of firm breasts below a fresh faced (yeah, I know, it’s not the face they notice) young woman. It’s that darn old procreative song that vibrates at the same frequency as testosterone.
But besides youth, strength, flexibility, energy and charming naiveté, what do they really have to offer? At some point, you have to carry on a conversation for more than a few minutes. Eventually it becomes obvious there is a difference between having a theory about life and a few years hard practice at it. The brilliant technicolour world of youth versus the more muted tones of time, some shades fade, others develop into colours for which there is no name.
It is enjoyable to spend some time with younger people. After awhile, though, it becomes somewhat tedious without the nuances, the insight that experience brings to the table.
What it comes down to is this, until someone’s been whacked on the head with a two-by-four by life, until they’ve been stuffed in the coals, hammered on an anvil and plunged into cold water a few times, they may be attractive but they’re not very interesting.
Maybe it’s just me.
