A man’s thing: thirty!

Some of them sooner, others slower, although it’s just a matter of feeling good, because everyone is affected at the same pace: thirty. A very dangerous plague. Unfortunately, there is no vaccine against it, as well as no effective cure.

A man's thing: thirty!

You are 18 years old

You’re an adult. Finally. You can legally buy beer, go to a “strip” movie, you can even get married. As long as you feel like it and you have someone to do it with. You’re an adult – you’re free.
You look into the future rather rarely, if at all. The visible period of life is a maximum of 25 years. And that’s with a keen eye and a lot of concentration.
Thirty does not exist.
There is no such thing as thirty.
A thirty-year-old man appears to be old. An almost-retired dingy dude with a belly and no hair.
The notion of “thirty-year-old” is something as cosmically distant as the universe. Across and across.

You’re 28 years old

You feel something is coming.
It’s lurking like Fredie Kruger, just around the corner or in your dream, “twiddling” its fingers armed with 30 little birthday candles.
You don’t yet know when you’ll be attacked – lying comfortably in bed, sitting behind your desk at work, or calmly running after a runaway cab where you left your phone (with sclerosis, only your legs hurt).
Some of your buddies already have it. They pretend it’s nothing, that nothing happened. There are others.

You are 29 years old

The most creative and busy year of your life so far. As the end of the world approaches, you try to make up for the wasted 29 years because you have less than 12 months left!
You become sentimental and look back for the first time in your life. You think back to your first girlfriend. Her name was Jola and she was 5 years old. Unfortunately, she was 6 months older than you, so your relationship didn’t stand a chance, especially since she changed kindergarten.
You devise a clever plan and schedule for each day ahead: wife, house, more interesting job, newer car, go to the hairdresser, sports, necessarily sports. And so on. Just to get it all done before it’s too late.

You’re 29 years and 11 months old.

You give up. Your brilliant plan lands in the trash. It’s pointless. You won’t be able to do anything in time anyway, so why struggle, why exhaust yourself. At least you bought yourself a turtle, it’s always someone who will listen to you in the evening.
You put into practice the minimum plan – a back-up plan. In short, it consists in doing “certain things” again before you are thirty, as a young man, who knows what will happen in a month.

You are 30 years old

It’s happened.
Thirtieth birthday – the most depressing day ever.
Thirty years old – God, did I die? Why me? Why did this happen to me? Why? Why so soon, why not in a year, two, five?
Thirty is like the plague – it reaches everyone, stifles, destroys, swallows, digests and spits out. Into the toilet. And flush.
How does this even sound – thirty years old, something terrible.
For the first time, at your rightful age, you get drunk.
. But down.

You’re 30 years and 1 day

The world really is a wonderful place. For the first time in your life, thirty no longer matters in the slightest.
You’ve crossed over to the bright side of power, where things seem to move more peacefully because you already know. Fear is gone.
Somewhere far away lurks forty, but fortunately you don’t look that far ahead.

The symptoms of thirty and why not to worry about them:
The homies on your block start telling you: “Good morning LORD.”
Be glad they recognize you at all.

Your discussions with your workmates are increasingly about facial cosmetics.
Be glad you have female colleagues at all. Some people don’t even have that.

You realize that if you wanted to date an eighteen-year-old girl “to the movies,” the age difference would be 12 years, which means you were in the sixth grade of elementary school when she was born, which means she was going to kindergarten as you celebrated your eighteenth birthday pompously.
A depressing example, but make a deal. If you can.

There’s the problem with hair: it’s where it shouldn’t be, and there’s a large-scale emigration from where it should be.
Rejoice, in winter you will be warmer on your body. You will wear a cap on your head.

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