With the impending release of Bridget Jones’ Baby and the reality that I’m nearing Bridget’s age (from the first film), I’ve come to realise that we’re not too dissimilar. We’re both craving Mr Darcy, our mother’s are both fond of a mini gherkin and our arses are bigger than Donald Trump’s wig collection.
But it’s fine because Bridget turned out fine, right? Well, almost.
As I write this I’m currently sat in my mum’s garden having a few days break from London and facing all the inevitable life questions about dating and men and where was I when I said I’d call last Tuesday (in the pub, kissing a man named Keith- sorry mum). Whilst I don’t resent their questions- it’s caring about me, I’m reassured – I have made a decision to only reply to them in Bridget Jones gifs. Because That’s The Mature Adult I Am.
“Hello Sweetie, how the devil are you?”
“And how’s work going?”
“But it’s enough to pay your rent, right? You are keeping on top of that, aren’t you, love?”
“That man… Simon, was it? How’s it going with him?”
“Timber. There’s always that Timber app these days.”
“Love will strike when you least expect it.”
“How about Susan’s son? I hear he lives in that London, too. Probably just round the corner from you”
“What *exactly* are you looking for?”
“Pizza? For breakfast?!”
“Why don’t you come with me to my pilates class in the church hall?”
“It’ll make you feel revitalised and at one with your body”
“Well, what else do you have planned for the afternoon?”
“No matter what, you know at least I’ll love you just how you are”