katorode

Mallory Reynolds had envisioned high tea as a turning point. This was the kind of thing put-together women did. Women with blazers. Women who knew the difference between Earl Grey  and whatever was in that dusty Lipton box . Women whose lives did not currently revolve around whose turn it was to buy toilet paper or whether ibuprofen counted as a personality. So, Mallory ironed a blouse she had not worn since before her hips unionized against her, slapped on lipstick that boldly announced I...

Another Unscheduled Midlife Crisis Mallory Reynolds did not “do” yoga. She once described herself as “about as flexible as a government website,” which seemed accurate. But after her doctor suggested she “incorporate light movement,” and after her friend Tiffany sent her a 40% off Groupon for a beginner’s class, Mallory decided she could tolerate one hour of pretending to be a pretzel. What she did not  expect was Goat Yoga. She had no idea until she walked in and saw twenty people in...

A Very Midlife Trauma I knew things were getting out of control when my fridge started sending me notifications like it was my mother. “Your spinach has expired.” “Your water intake is insufficient.” “Your cheese-to-vegetable ratio is concerning.” Excuse me? I didn’t buy a fridge; I bought a judgmental roommate with a freezer. It all started last Tuesday, when my boss announced, we’d be returning to the office twice a week, and my eye began twitching so violently that I looked like a...