The Midults’ guide to…

Annabel Rivkin & Em­i­lie Mcmeekan

The Daily Telegraph - Telegraph Magazine - - News -

Things that con­tinue to amaze

How near Christ­mas it is So, Septem­ber and Oc­to­ber lasted for about two hours each. And here we are, nig­gled by the knowl­edge that The Day of Days is in about 100 min­utes. So that’s how much time we have to heal our re­la­tion­ship with which­ever fam­ily mem­ber we are cur­rently re­sent­ing (they’re clearly in­sane) and do all the Christ­mas shop­ping (which ba­si­cally con­sists of panic-in­duc­ing missed­de­liv­ery slips), as well as get thin and stylish for the one Christ­mas party we’ll be asked to – and then try to wrig­gle out of be­cause we did our backs in drag­ging the bat­tered old fake tree out of the loft. We LOVE Christ­mas.

How­dark­i­tis

So to­day we have an evening. A lazy, lux­u­ri­ous gloam­ing. Po­etic. Hope­ful. To­mor­row we go from lunch di­rectly into deep­est, dark­est night. Some peo­ple say cosy. Oth­ers say deathly. What do you say? Can you even speak? Or are you too cold?

How easy it is to ig­nore the list Sure, we will write the list. We might even put ‘AC­TION’ at the top to make it feel as though we are dy­nam­i­cally stream­lin­ing our lives. But then we will turn the page/close the screen and ig­nore the list. We will rely on our mem­o­ries. Ha­ha­ha­ha­ha­ha­haha. And our su­pe­rior or­gan­i­sa­tional skills. And our fa­mous fo­cus. *Mon­key in head claps and plays ac­cor­dion*

How we’re still not bored of leop­ard print

How in the name of Pat Butcher has this not hap­pened yet? It hap­pened to bal­let shoes and we never saw that com­ing. Ditto skinny jeans. And most re­cently – and we re­ally didn’t want this to be true – to our trusty Stan Smiths. And now, sit­ting, typ­ing, head-to-toe in clash­ing leop­ard print, in­clud­ing a cape (OK, that is a lie), it seems im­pos­si­ble that we will not love leop­ard for ever. And what will our short­cut to rel­e­vance be if the leop­ard dies?

How much eas­ier it is to fall asleep on a sofa than a bed Pic­ture the scene. You are watch­ing the Net­flix. Pos­si­bly a 23-part Viet­nam se­ries that ev­ery­one says is the great­est piece of TV ever. And then, whoosh, you wake up and you have been asleep for a whole four hours, you can’t feel your arms and all the lights are on. Pic­ture an­other scene. You go to bed nice and early. Spray laven­der. Then, 20 plump­ings of the pil­lows, 24 ad­just­ings of the cur­tains and 14 sac­ri­fices to the gods later, you are still wide awake.

How in­fu­ri­at­ing it is when

peo­ple tell us to smile Guar­an­teed to keep our frown in place. Bonus frown for, ‘Cheer up, it might never hap­pen.’ Ditto, ‘Re­lax.’ Ditto, ‘Calm down.’ How do you think you are help­ing? You are not help­ing.

How much we are en­joy­ing fem­i­nism

We used to put our lip­stick on to flirt. Now we put it on so that we are al­ways slightly ready to riot. Life has started to feel like one long call to ac­tion. Is the pa­tri­archy a lit­tle afraid for the first time in mil­len­nia? It cer­tainly should be.

That we are ac­tu­ally book­ing our sum­mer hol­i­days Hang on, this is sick and wrong. No, no, no, no. Hon­estly, just re­lax – we’re all be­hav­ing like ma­ni­acs. But if we want that villa in that re­sort but on the beach side of the for­est with the in­fin­ity pool, near the vil­lage (but far from the main road), which in­cludes mem­ber­ship to that fancy lo­cal beach club just a short drive away from that fa­mous flea mar­ket and less than an hour from the air­port then WHAT ON EARTH ARE WE WAIT­ING FOR?

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

You go to bed early. Spray laven­der. Then, 20 plump­ings of the pil­lows and 14 sac­ri­fices to the gods later, you are still wide awake

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