I’m spending some time visiting my parents in a large midwestern city. In the process of redecorating, they decided to dispose of a bulky sofa that’s not worthy of donating, so I contacted a haul-away company that’s owned and operated by veterans. Early this morning, the truck arrived with two young men. The parents were out to breakfast, so I was in charge. The driver, a nice looking young man, and I exchanged pleasantries. But when his co-worker popped out of the cab, I went weak in the knees. About 6’2”, blonde, clad in a skin-tight polo shirt, and equally tight jeans, in a voice almost Vader-esque, introduced himself as Tyler. Of course. We went inside and they spent a few minutes sizing up the sofa while I sized up Tyler. Two gorgeous arms of tattoos - tasteful - clearly indicating his Marine Corps experience. So the small talk began. Yes, sir, he said at the end of each question. I made some goofy comment about their work, etc. and how they probably didn’t need to go to the gym. Not so, sir, said Tyler. He still hits the gym at least 5-6 days a week. Yep, I’ll bet he does. Those eye-smoldering biceps didn’t just happen without some effort. I won’t bore you with any more details. But the 20-minute encounter with Tyler and his buddy (who was only a tiny bit less volcanic) made my day. So back to the title. As I approach no doubt the latter half of my life, it seems the lust for 24 year-old Marine veterans, with blonde hair and bulging muscles is only increasing. Seriously, it’s been a long time since I’ve met a guy so freaking hot. I’ve thought about him all day. To the point of asking my dad if there’s anything else around the house that we need to donate. Tyler said to call them any time!