collective nouns, collections, midult definitions, words

Midult collective nouns

Life is dizzying as it whisks past our ears and punches us in the guts and whirls around our ears and before our eyes and over our heads. And it’s never just one thing at a time now, is it? So how to group these clusters of wonder and horror and angst and awe. Like this, maybe?

A wisdom of chin hairs

So learned, we are. So distinguished. Sometimes they’re grey. Which is absolutely fine.

A scold of sales purchases

Shoes two sizes two small. Challenging knitwear (now there’s an oxymoron). A feathered cape (Annabel). A white puffball skirt (Emilie). We could be rich, we tell you. RICH. Instead, every morning, we are greeted by the Wardrobe of Shame. Capsule? CAPSULE? If you’re talking pills then we’re with you all the way. Ahahahahahahaha.

A regret of herbal teas

How did we end up with this cacophony of nonsense? Anyone feel like a cup of Womankind? A mug of Harmony? A pot of Restoration? A thimble of Spirit Animal? Oh, honestly, we’d much rather have a Diet Coke. But we probably won’t.

A flamboyance of hormones

We’re hot, we’re cold. We’re fat, we’re thin. We’re spotty, we’re flaky, we’re angry, we’re hungry. It’s all day every day. Who even are we? And what the hell is hormonally going on?

A hell of people

Why are all these people here in this cinema/pub/bathroom? Or queueing in front of us or on this train? Or lying in wait on this bottomlessly over-populated WhatsApp group? And then we realised we have just reached one of the circles that Dante is always talking about. A social circle.

An ambush of missed delivery slips

Perhaps one of us (Annabel) has already done her Christmas shopping. And perhaps you are reading this gnashing your teeth thinking that can’t be possible? Don’t worry, Annabel is going to be spending the next few days in the line at the post office with all those delivery slips. Poor Annabel.

A battery of balls

There are a lot of balls in our lives at the moment. Balls. Everywhere. Balls that we are juggling. Balls that we have dropped. Balls that are in our court. Balls we should be growing in order to deal with everything that is going on. Or maybe even, actual balls. As in tennis balls, you filthy lot.

A skulk of ex-lovers

They pop up, don’t they, when you are least expecting them. When it’s not convenient. We have stumbled upon an ‘elegant’ solution. We just extend a hand and say, “How do you do?” And then they understand how this is going to work.

A charm of potential lovers

Never say never. *winky face*

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