You Are Never Too Old For a Treehouse

To me, and bear in mind that I am no expert on maturity, it seems that the desire to own a treehouse is something you never really grow out of. I don't care who you are, you can't possibly tell me that if you were at a friend's house and they said "Hey, let's have a beer in the treehouse!" you wouldn't grab a brew and start climbing. It's a treehouse. Who passes up the opportunity to chill in a treehouse? Certainly not the kind of people I like to associate with, that's for sure. I guess in a broader scope, I would also include clubhouses as a variation of a treehouse or a treehouse as a variation of a clubhouse, whatever semantic situation you prefer. Treehouse, clubhouse, they are both places to get away from the world. A slice of Earth earmarked for the sole purpose of recreation. The Bat Cave: just a clubhouse. Batman loved solving mysteries and defeating evil doers, he played out his little games in the comfort of his Bat Cave. Doomsday bunkers: yet more clubhouses. Grown men stockpiling snacks and drinks, chillin' in underground clubhouses planning for the end of the world, it's just a clubhouse. Whatever "reason" they have for them, at the end of the day, they have their own little space, segregated from everyone else, where they can do the things that they take satisfaction in doing. I'm not judging. Shit, I'm thinking about building a clubhouse, too. I want an eight foot by eight foot hideout where I can hide from the world and remember what it was like to be a kid again. You know, a place to cast off all the stress of the world and enjoy a space that serves no other purpose than to make you happy. Compartmentalize your leisure. Separate the things you love to do from the things you don't. Build a clubhouse. But never, never ever ever pays bills inside your clubhouse. That's grown up shit that has no business in your shack of solitude.