When Pamela Druckerman turns 40, waiters start calling her “Madame,” and she detects a disturbing new message in mens’ gazes: I would sleep with her, but only if doing so required no effort whatsoever.
Yet forty isn’t even technically middle-aged anymore. And after a lifetime of being clueless, Druckerman can finally grasp the subtext of conversations, maintain (somewhat) healthy relationships and spot narcissists before they ruin her life.
What are the modern forties, and what do we know once we reach them? What makes someone a “grown-up” anyway? And why didn’t anyone warn us that we’d get cellulite on our arms? Part frank memoir, part hilarious investigation of daily life, There Are No Grown-Ups diagnoses the in-between decade when…
– Everyone you meet looks a little bit familiar.
– You’re matter-of-fact about chin hair.
– You can no longer wear anything ironically.
– There’s at least one sport your doctor forbids you to play.
– You become impatient while scrolling down to your year of birth.
– Your parents have stopped trying to change you.
– You don’t want to be with the cool people anymore; you want to be with your people.
– You realize that everyone is winging it, some just do it more confidently.
– You know that it’s ok if you don’t like jazz.
Internationally best-selling author and New York Times contributor Pamela Druckerman leads us on a quest for wisdom, self-knowledge and the right pair of pants. A witty dispatch from the front lines of the forties, There Are No Grown-ups is a (midlife) coming-of-age story, and a book for anyone trying to find their place in the world.