When we were little, we didn’t have “Things.” Nothing much was a Thing. We just did stuff. We rode bicycles like madmen, and skied too fast, played hockey in the street, and every once in a while we’d go down to the sand pit where some guy sold fill dirt and gravel, and we’d slide down the hill on a castoff piece of plywood. When we got home, our elbows and shins looked like we’d had fourteen low-speed motorcycle crashes, but it was a blast.
Please note: It was a blast. It was not a Thing. Beware the Thing. Before you know it you’re wearing spangled spandex with advertising all over it. It ain’t dignified.