The Midults on… everyday irritants

Annabel Rivkin & Emilie Mcmeekan

The merest hint of a chill in the air and some people reach for the opaques. Why?

WE ARE FOREVER cutting stuff out, living clean, trying another way, seeking to buffer physical irritations. But what about stuff that brings us out in an emotional rash? The stuff that gives us a kind of internal inflammation. That sounds revolting. Sometimes it is. Increasingly, we are not managing our reactions; we are developing allergies that are immune to antihistamines. Like…

ANSWERING THE PHONE

The hot tingle (not in a sexy way) as the phone starts to ring. The churning in the pit of the stomach. The sweat. The ‘Will they leave a voicemail/why can’t they just text/has somebody died/are they cross with me/what do they WANT?’ panic. And, conversely, if we lose our phones for a second… Hives.

TIGHTS

The merest hint of a chill in the air and some people reach for the opaques. Why? The wiggling and squiggling to get into them. The drooping, the wrinkling, the constant yanking up, the claustrophobia, we can’t breathe… Our throats are closing just thinking about it. So it’ll have to be hold-ups. Hahaha.

CHANGING-ROOM LIGHTING

The opposite of an Instagram filter. How to look instantly dead, as if you are in anaphylactic shock, or covered in someone else’s – it must be someone else’s, right? – lumpy skin. It’s a high-definition nightmare. Why don’t shops understand that, in order to sell clothes, we need a candlelit environment with smoky mirrors and an ocean breeze?

G-STRINGS

Aren’t they so 1990s? So ouchy. And silly. And uncomfortable. Chafing. Why would we? In fact, why did we? An entire decade lost to crack.

TENTS

We’d like to think we can still disco and tent. But it’s just discontent these days. Because, damp. We are either damp-freezing or damp-sweaty, a bit mouldy and slightly festering. And we are over being smelly at this point in our lives. There is no room for it, only for fragrant. Not forgetting constantly heaving ourselves up from the floor every time we have to pee. Which is all the time.

ANYONE WHO SENDS 25 TEXTS IN A ROW

Get your thoughts together, people. It’s stressful, this multi-texting and Whatsapping. Yes, we understand you might be doing it for dramatic effect, but we already have enough drama without the pinging. Eyes are watering.

And anyone who starts a sentence with, ‘Not being funny but…’ We are sure of one thing – they are not about to be funny. Bitchy, maybe. Hectoring, perhaps. Boring, probably. But not funny.

KALE

There you are minding your own business, when suddenly KALE. The texture of a shredded utility bill, along with a stalk that is definitely going to take one of our crowns down and pepper our teeth like a forest floor. What’s wrong with spinach? Bring back spinach.

WAITERS WHO HOVER…

…and wait and wait right by our heads. Wait and wait for a window in which to insert, ‘How is everything?’ Except there is no window. Because we are really talking. Maybe it’s romantic talk. Or deep. Or combative. Except we have lost our thread because they are looming.

PLANE LOOS

Surely the mile-high thing is a myth. Who has ever been turned on in a plane loo? Tear-inducing blue-rinse smell. The fear of the ‘Please return to your seats’ before you are done. The plane bouncing around and you ending up in the septic tank. The least sexy, most stressy place in the known universe.

I’m Absolutely Fine! A Manual For Imperfect Women, by The Midults, is out now (Cassell, £16.99); themidult.com