The Midults’ guide to...

Annabel Rivkin & Emilie Mcmeekan

Sex dreams, bad dates – and more

HEY LISTEN, we know that there are lots of things you could write a book about. You’ve been around the block. You’ve weathered the storms. You have more than one book in you. Like...

The book of all the holidays you are

currently ‘researching’ Machu Picchu. Or actually how about Nicaragua, which is so hot right now? Panama has these incredibly remote islands where there are very few people but good Wi-fi (you’ve seen the Instagram stories). Plus, you want to experience India as a grown-up rather than a giardia-addled backpacker. Ooh, a safari. Also the Northern Lights. *Spends days on holiday websites.* *Goes to Cornwall.*

The book of all the times you were unbelievably ill, but soldiered on at

work Strep throat? You mainlined antibiotics and owned that meeting. Broken arm? A sling and a couple of codeine and that financial report was done. Crippling anxiety attacks? Hell, you took half an afternoon off and cracked open the beta blockers.

The book of all the places you’ve

hidden at parties In the loo. Behind a really big pot plant. In the coat room, under the coats. On the terrace. Behind a curtain. Under a table. Behind the bar. In the taxi on the way home.

The book of all the books you mean

to read Of course you are a brilliant, dedicated reader and isn’t that a sophisticated mix of titles piled up on your bedside table? You are tempted to Instagram it. And what about the ones in your Amazon basket or on your Kindle, circling like planes in air traffic control? And the list of titles you emailed yourself so you wouldn’t forget them. You forgot them. Also the audio ones downloaded for your next long car journey. All of them.

The book of all the times you smashed

your phone screen The time you smashed your phone screen because apparently you can’t eat an artisan doughnut and take a selfie at the same time. The time you smashed your phone screen because you had just put on hand cream and it leapt out of your hand like a fish. The time you looked at it and it smashed. Or that’s what it felt like anyway.

The book of bad dates You said you were going to the loo and then left. He said he was going to the loo and then left. He shouted. You got so drunk you don’t remember anything except that you may have cried. He suggested calling a hooker. You suggested calling your mother. He forgot his wallet. You forgot your self-respect. The book of all the excuses you have given to get out of evening things Bit tired. Bit rainy. Bit Netflixy. Bit Wednesday. They’ve all been trotted out on a regular basis.

The book of friendship The ones who held your hair when you were being sick. The ones who fell by the wayside. The one who slept with your university boyfriend. The one whose babies you rocked to sleep. The ones who were emotional terrorists. The ones who came and went and came and went and that was fine. Except sometimes it wasn’t. The one who saved your life. The book of all the hypothetical arguments you’ve won in the shower The one with Piers Morgan about why the Women’s March was incredibly significant and not remotely virtuesignalling. The one with Mark from strategy about why his idea was bad and you had a better one. The one with your mother about your fringe. The one with the parking warden where he admitted he was wrong, and was having kind of a hard time with his wife, and stopped writing the ticket.

The book of all the terrible sex dreams

you’ve had The weird ones with your next door neighbour. The ones with Donald Trump or Kim Jong-un or both, at the same time. The one with Chris Hemsworth on a surfboard, and then some idiot wakes you up… themidult.com

What about the time you smashed your phone because apparently you can’t eat an artisan doughnut and take a selfie at the same time?