Recipe For a Midlife Crisis.

Buy a stupid, impractical car.

Shag the gardener.

Go to the pub five nights a week in high heels.

Go clubbing for the first time in 20 years.

Shag the gardener again.

Dye your hair blonde.

Then pink.

Then cut it all off.

Dress like a teenager and take up smoking.

 

Get botox.

Get fillers.

Get permanent make up and black eyebrows like a clown.

Get a spray tan.

Be more orange.

Get a boob job.

Lose half your brain cells.

 

Shag the gardener.

Get caught shagging the gardener.

Don’t care.

File for divorce.

Have a divorce party.

Become ‘that mum’ that everyone avoids.

Have boozy lunches.

Turn up to collect the kids half soaked.

Get called in by the head.

 

Get a young boyfriend.

Buy him stuff so he stays with you.

Check his phone.

Give young girls dirty looks.

Drink more, be cool.

Cry.

Get dumped for a 17 year old.

 

Have more botox.

Get some gay best friends.

Run out of cash.

Send the kids to live with the ex.

Go to Ibiza.

Find yourself through yoga.

Become a yoga teacher.

Move to the seaside with the kids.

Bake.

Start a blog on baking and yoga.

 

Make crap crafts and start an Etsy shop.

Go grey, grow your pubes back.

Get the ex back.

Until the next time you get bored.

 

 

 

 

 

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