The Midults’ guide to…
Annabel Rivkin & Emilie Mcmeekan
Things we used to mock
You laughed, right? Because you don’t need to be told how to breathe. (‘Don’t forget to breathe’ in all those agonising dynamic Pilates classes.) You are practically a yogi. I mean you have the Lululemon leggings… Except someone sends you a link to calm.com/breathe and you follow the little blue bubble, and breathe in and out, and it’s the first time you’ve felt even vaguely sane all week.
Oh for heaven’s sake with their Lark and their Amaro and their saturation and that rainbow filter and ‘oh look, they make such a cute baby panda’ and ‘wow she looks unbelievable’ and ‘show us again how to whiten our eyes and smooth out our foreheads and reshape our chins’ and we realise we will never knowingly be #nofilter again.
All those terrifying Insta pictures of people in sheet masks looking mummified and you think, ‘This will never catch on.’ And then a friend does one in front of you – maybe on holiday or when you are away for one of those house ‘destination’ parties in the country – and you mock her inability to speak and laugh at her post-plasticsurgery-appearance. Then she removes it and it has taken five years off her face. Hand ’em over, sister.
Honestly you’ve got enough kitchen utensils rattling around, so why do you need tongs when a fork or a knife or a spatula or a wooden spoon will do? Except you’ve been given them and now you are tonging everything: the meat, the pasta, the salad, the sweetcorn. You practically tong glasses from countertop to table. You tong teabags. Me love you tongtime.
Why can’t they just get dressed? What is it with the pyjamas? To the shops, to the park, on the sofa, in the pub, on the plane, to the shrink, at the doctor. Frankly we took a dim view. Then. Now? Please just bring us all the pyjamas. The Olivia Von Halles for when we need to pretend that we are fully functional human women, worn with a Seren silk kimono. The cropped Eberjey ones for when we are feeling girlish. The men’s brushed-cotton M&S ones for when we are being ourselves. The sprigged-cotton Lunn Antiques ones for when we are in full-blown fantasylife mode (gypsy caravan at the end of the apple orchard etc).
Never. Never, ever, ever. Pillow cheeks. Stretched skin. Except… When done well. Holy hell you look amazing, gorgeous. You had it in your temples, you say? Compelling.
Just like a hardcore Gordon Gekko, you used to think ‘me time’ was for wimps. What did it even mean? Baths? Soaking your own quinoa? Knitting? Oh, how you sneered. And then you went a bit mad. And that was a lesson learnt.
Full moon, full schmoon. It has absolutely no bearing on you as a human being… None at all. It’s just weird that the dog goes nuts and you sleep less than usual (not a wink as opposed to four hours, 34 minutes) and you feel wired, like someone is plucking your inner violin, and everyone is fighting. You are, after all, largely made up of water and your inner tides are going ballistic and you hate everyone and ARRRRROOOOOOO.
Yes, apostrophes matter – this is a hill you will die on. You love books. Books are the best. Yes, you are literally over literally, it is important not to speak in code all the time and not just be LOL and LMAO. But, seeing as we’re both time-pushed and also vaguely down with the kids (Oh God) WTF is civilisation coming to? I mean. FML.
I’m Absolutely Fine! A Manual For Imperfect Women, by The Midults, is out now (Cassell, £16.99); themidult.com. The Midults’ podcast is free to download at itunes.apple.com
You used to think ‘me time’ was for wimps. Oh how you sneered. Then you went a bit mad. Lesson learnt