Member-only story
I am at the start of a mid-life crisis
(It’s also the reason I haven’t been writing as much)
I turn 40 next month. I even remember years ago when my son was born thinking that this was a terrifying age. I mean I would be so ancient, right? My life would be mostly over.
Perhaps this is the part where people have a mid-life crisis and start to lose it, as they feel their own mortality looms.
Thing is I’m pretty happy.
I know, who would have thought a 40-year-old feminist could possibly be actually just content?
The nearest thing that I think that can describe me having a mid-life is my obsession with getting a puppy.
A tiny yappy puppy in fact. One that looks like a teddy but has the potential to grow up into a snappy bastard (fingers crossed on that one).
Some middle-aged men buy fancy sports cars, some women hit the botox — I made the decision to take on the extra work of looking after a puppy on top of all my other work and interests.
And I called her Lola because I was outvoted by my son and boyfriend because I think she looks like a ‘Nancy.’
