The Midults’ guide to… the girls we wanted to be

The Daily Telegraph - Telegraph Magazine - - The Midults’ Guide To… The Girls We Wanted To Be - Annabel Rivkin & Em­i­lie Mcmeekan

WHAT IS IT about sunny spring days that makes us… won­der? The length­en­ing evenings echo­ing with what we might have been. Who we might have been. All those girls we wanted to be. Is there still time?

THE ADORABLE MESS

Dun­ga­rees, hair up in a messy bun held to­gether with a paint­brush, pos­si­bly a dar­ling lit­tle dab on your nose. But not stinky, or broke. Or hairy. Or drunk.

THE DO­MES­TIC GOD­DESS

Of course you can feed the 10 peo­ple who have just spon­ta­neously dropped in with the fen­nel and kale (nice and crisp rather than ‘maybe just leave it to stick to the fridge drawer?’), a fist­ful of risotto rice and a dash of lemon… Oh, and you think you might even have some pork mar­i­nat­ing. Laugh­ing and jok­ing while you whip up a souf­flé with­out break­ing a sweat or a plate. And a side of the bread you just baked (but don’t eat). And the enor­mous salad you grew with your bare hands.

THE TO­TALLY TO­GETHER ONE

There you are – so stoic, so sexy Scot­tish Widow, so ca­pa­ble. Not cry­ing all the way through Queer Eye, binge eat­ing M&S crisps (boy, those pack­ets are big), cov­ered in crumbs with grey roots and py­jama bot­toms on. No, noth­ing like that. You have booked a si­lent re­treat in Goa (to co­in­cide with your kitchen ex­ten­sion that you can to­tally af­ford) as well as your Ocado shops for the rest of the year. And you are fine: you have Te­flon pow­ers – none of the pain seems to stick.

THE PRINCESS

De­spite our fem­i­nism, there’s some­thing about the royal wed­ding that is trig­ger­ing our ‘plucked from ob­scu­rity’ princess fan­tasies like a pin­ball ma­chine, and we are in­ter­nally ping­ing: ‘I like peo­ple. I use the word “em­power’’. I could em­brace a life of LK Ben­nett heels and Er­dem dresses.’ (We do not re­ally like peo­ple.)

THE ONE WHO UPPED AND MOVED TO CAL­I­FOR­NIA

You go hik­ing (aka walk­ing) with your wolf-dog at sun­rise. You ex­ist on cold­pressed juice and vinyasa yoga, and are con­nected spir­i­tu­ally to the uni­verse as well as the bros at Sil­i­con Val­ley (on ac­count of the in­dis­pens­able app you helped in­vent and sold for $100,000,000). Na­maste.

THE FRENCH-ISH FOX...

Who can just throw on your hot boyfriend’s shirt… And your hot boyfriend’s trousers. And never have to brush your hair be­cause it’s all short and per­fectly curly. You just smudge your eye­liner with your fin­ger, bite your lip, et voilà.

THE GIRL WHO MAR­RIED HER CHILD­HOOD SWEET­HEART

We hear these sto­ries about girls who marry their first love and live hap­pily ever af­ter with­out all that sticky, messy kiss-tory that most of us men­tally wade through at 3am. So pure. So un­cyn­i­cal. (Can they re­ally be happy ???? )

THE HU­MAN-RIGHTS LAWYER WHO MAR­RIED A MOVIE STAR

It could have, should have, would have been us. Had we taken a tiny dif­fer­ent turn way back when.

THE ATH­LETE

We ac­ci­den­tally watched a doc­u­men­tary about surfer girls or climb­ing girls or hur­dling girls and they looked so free and tanned and mus­cled but not in a ‘made in a Lon­don gym’ kind of way. And we did go to a climb­ing gym and, well… Maybe it’s time for a new dream. themidult.com

We hear sto­ries about girls who marry their first love, with­out all that sticky, messy kiss-tory…

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