London - My teenage daughter is confused and dismayed.
“That is the most ridiculous thing you have ever done,” she says, rolling her eyes indignantly in my direction.
The judgmental 13-year-old is probably right - but you can’t calmly sit down and plan a midlife crisis, can you? In my opinion, you have to run at it shouting.
That is why I have had the top of my right ear pierced in what I choose to believe is a spirited act of mid-40s rebellion. Actually, it’s turned out to be a foolhardy and medically doomed mistake.
It’s agony. I haven’t slept on that side of my face for weeks and late into the night, I find myself watching dubious YouTube videos about cartilage swellings.
My two eldest daughters, aged 13 and 11, are beyond embarrassed by my new piercing. “Hide it,” they whisper, when one of their friends comes round.
They don’t understand why I had it done (on the spur of the moment in TopShop one lunchtime) and haven’t the time nor the inclination to listen to me grumbling about getting older.
They certainly don’t want to hear about how it feels to suddenly be nearly 50 and confronted with ‘The Sadness’ - that creeping feeling of restlessness that wafts towards you in midlife, like the faint smell of bonfires on a cold winter afternoon.
And why should they listen, anyway? My girls are at the beginning of their exciting life, giddiness rising and carefree times ahead.
They’re finding their identity, just as I fear I’m losing mine. Some midlife crisis moms take up extreme sport or maybe join the Ashley Madison dating website for married people, but I’m too busy for any of that.
Having a long to-do list only allows me enough time between domestic and office chores for a quick moment of spontaneous rebellion.
I knew some kind of ‘youth chasing’ behaviour was coming: I’d used the word “swagger” earlier in the day and briefly contemplated not listening to Radio Four first thing in the morning like I usually do.
The piercing, though - and I know you will agree - was a mistake. Right now, I can’t imagine it will ever heal properly and I am too embarrassed to go to the doctor.
My son, aged nine, suggested I break my arm, then go to the doctor about that and bring up the sore ear while I am there.
I never fail to be amazed by the lack of sympathy children have for their parents.
Once, on holiday, I thought I had sprained my ankle, but the children’s outrage when it looked as though we might have to break off activities and go to hospital forced me to ignore the pain and carry on. It later turned out to be broken.
A friend tells the story of when a car bumped into her on a zebra crossing and knocked her down. She wasn’t hurt but, as she was helped up, her little one demanded they “hurry up and get to the newsagent before the Peppa Pig magazine sells out”.
So, a bad ear cuts no ice on the sympathy front.
When I had the piercing, it wasn’t a bid to “be cool”, as my children concluded. I just wanted to do something different to shake up the routine. I wanted to try something new.
Tipping over the age of 45 means I am halfway across the tightrope of life.
It’s the part where you really shouldn’t look down but, of course, you do - then everything starts to wobble. Adjusting to the fact you will never be a hope-fuelled teenage girl again is harder than you think, especially when you have two of the species growing up in front of you. It can send you temporarily over the edge in TopShop.
Now, each morning as they head off for school, the fearsome foursome jokingly ask what I’m going to get pierced today.
“Be careful out there,’ says my 11-year-old. “No tattoos,” adds my son. Mr Candy looks at me suspiciously, in the same way he looks out of the window at weekends, and cheerily remarks: “There’s a storm coming.”
This time, he may be right.
Daily Mail
* Lorraine Candy is editor-in-chief of Elle magazine.