A hilarious and empowering perimenopausal Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, about Clover Hendry, 46, and the day she decides to stop keeping the plates spinning, say F@#! it all, and finally get hers.Today is not the day to mess with Clover Hendry.Clover hasn’t said “No” a day in her life. Until today. Normally a woman who tips her hairdresser even when the cut is hideous, is endlessly patient with her horrendous mother, and says yes every time her boss asks her to work late—today, things are going to be very different. Because Clover is taking the day off. Today, she’s going to do and say whatever she likes, even if it means her whole life unravels.What made Clover change her ways? Why doesn’t she care anymore? There’s more to this day than meets the eye.Clover Hendry's Day Off is a joyful, raging, galvanizing story about putting life on pause, pleasing yourself, and getting your own back. Whatever it takes. Because when Clover stops caring, she can start living.
Seems lately I react to everything one way or another. Bloated after carbs, queasy after meat, gassy after vegetables. Can't even drink a sip of water without peeing every five minutes. Sometimes I drink wine in the evenings just to dehydrate myself, so I won't be up every hour in the night, heading to the bathroom, quaking in the dark at the sighs and grinds of our creaky old house. But wine gives me a headache. In my twenties, I could sink a bottle and come up smiling the next morning; nowadays I can feel my brow tighten just looking at the glass. An anticipation of undoing. The older you get, the more things stop being fun and just become a chore. Music festivals, flights abroad, wrap parties— someone always has to prepare for eventualities, deal with the mess.
Seems lately I react to everything one way or another. Bloated after carbs, queasy after meat, gassy after vegetables. Can't even drink a sip of water without peeing every five minutes. Sometimes I drink wine in the evenings just to dehydrate myself, so I won't be up every hour in the night, heading to the bathroom, quaking in the dark at the sighs and grinds of our creaky old house. But wine gives me a headache. In my twenties, I could sink a bottle and come up smiling the next morning; nowadays I can feel my brow tighten just looking at the glass. An anticipation of undoing. The older you get, the more things stop being fun and just become a chore. Music festivals, flights abroad, wrap parties— someone always has to prepare for eventualities, deal with the mess.
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