Pamela Druckerman, author of Bringing up Bébé, has written a primer for women approaching their forties.  It’s called There Are No Grownups: A Mid-Life-Coming-of-Age Story.

According to Druckerman, you know you’re in your forties when you’re annoyed by how long it takes to scroll down to the year of your birth on an Internet form and you realize that you can’t wish away those sprouting chin hairs and the frown slashes between your eyebrows.

I liked the book enough to listen online to a talk Druckerman gave at the American Library in Paris.  She’s quite charming.  I’d love to have a glass of wine with her at a neighborhood bistro in Paris. 

I don’t remember reading any books to prepare myself for my forties.  Back then, I was too busy with family and career to notice my incipient decline.  As I read her delightful book, I couldn’t help thinking, “If she thinks the forties are bad, how will she feel at eighty?”