Just as you are?
Not thinner? Not cleverer?
Not with slightly bigger breasts and a slightly smaller nose?
BRIDGET: Mm-mmm.
Well…fuck me.
Scene from Bridget Jones’ Diary (2001)
As the next Bridget Jones film in the franchise is about to launch, fifteen years after the original, I’ve decided to come clean about something. The thing is, a much as I like to think I’m a red hot single mama, I’m definitely more Bridget Jones than Dita Von Teese. Don’t get me wrong, I am most definitely a red blooded woman, who is both open and sexual. You only need to look at my earlier posts, like Love Me, Love my Vagina…but I digress. I’ve just come to understand that the reason I could always feel an infinity with Bridget Jones is because, actually I’m very much like an Australian version of her.
When I started this blog 4 years ago, way before the Producer came along, I talked a lot about seeking my own Mr Darcy. Of course I had the glorious Colin Firth in mind when I talked of Darcy…and more the Bridget Jones version of him (even in a reindeer sweater) than the Jane Austen classic. Obviously I wasn’t too clear with the universe, because in meeting the Producer, what I actually got was more Daniel Clever of the Hugh Grant variety…all bad boy hormones but not enough emotional intimacy to keep the relationship going.
In fairness to me, and to the Producer, our love affair started out with incredible sparks, and he made me laugh…a lot. He will thrilling and the sex was incredible. I adored his arse. That’s the thing about bad boys. Sometimes they start out irresistible and end up…well, just bad for you, even with the best of intentions on both sides. Man, we loved each other, but love alone is not enough.
“Come on, Jones, for God’s sake. You’re sexy. You make me laugh…at you of course, not with you. And you were, incidentally, the best shag I ever had…”
Daniel Cleaver (Bridget Jones – The Edge of Reason (2004)
Bridget Jones Diary of course started out as novel written by Helen Fielding in 1996. By the time the film adaptation came to life, Fielding had sold millions of copies of her book worldwide. People couldn’t get enough of Bridget, a woman in her thirties who chronicled her entire life – from family, friends, career, her weight struggles and, of course, her love life. British Bridget is of course played to perfection by American actress, Renee Zellweger.
Bridget, for me, seemed like the “every woman”. She just made sense. She was goofy and endearing, and felt accessible. I simply wanted her to be okay because in truth she reminded me in some ways of me. I have similar characteristics. We are both, for example curvy women, with quirky tastes in literature, men and the odd drink. Our cooking skills are dubious and we like bad men. I often lament about giving up wine and losing some kilos, just as she does. While Bridget penned a diary, I write a blog about much the same thing. My dating, my weight, my friends and my ridiculous optimism that my very own Mark Darcy might be out there.
As much as I like to think I’m quite all together in some ways, I’ve had some extraordinary Bridget like moments. Most recently was on my way to a black tie event in Melbourne. I’d had my make-up done by a gorgeous young make-up artist, my hair was great and I had donned a classic black lace dress, over my Bridget style spanx…(oh, come on, we’ve all got a pair hidden in the back of the knickers drawer!)… and spiky patent leather heels. When I jumped into the cab, I felt like it was a Cinderella moment of epic proportions. Honestly, there was almost a Hollywood screen reel running in my head and I was loving myself sick for the first time in a long time. Oh Good Girl, you’re back, baby!
Whilst in the cab, the phone rang and on the other side of that call was Fashion Guy. Fashion guy headed up a well-known men’s fashion label and had a boyish face that belies his fifty years. He was sweet and flirty. As the cab pulled up near the event, I managed to step out as elegantly as I could whilst holding my mobile to my ear. Then the unthinkable happened.
Snap!
That’s the bloody sound of my stiletto breaking. And my heart…I loved those damn shoes and, ironically, the Producer had bought them for me. Was that a sign from the universe?
Stifling a gasp while I acted cool with Mr Fashion, I said my very calm goodbyes, hung up and then panicked! How the hell could I rock up to a black tie affair with a bloody broken shoe?! Given this was a Saturday and still quite early, I spotted some shops and hobbled towards them, limping in my one good heel and one broken shoe. Of course the stores had just closed. So I did what a Good Girl needed to do and banged on the window of a shoe store like a crazy person until finally a bewildered assistant opened the door ever so slightly.
“Please,” I gasped, quite dramatically, “Can you please help me…it’s an emergency!”
Women are the best. They totally understood my predicament, let me in and three shop assistants scattered in different directions to find black heels in my size. Bless those girls. I managed to get a pair of gorgeous shoes at very short notice that actually felt comfortable all night!
These heels saved me!
If I was in any doubt about Bridget Jonesy-ness, just yesterday as I was coming down an escalator with the Greek Goddess I work with, when we lost control of a trolley full of water bottles and in the process, my work security pass flung into the gap between two moving escalators. So there I was, in heels no less, running upwards on the downward escalator, like a mad woman, arms flailing everywhere, heart racing, trying to fling myself over to get my pass. Eventually a lovely young woman used her umbrella to fling my pass to a place I could actually retrieve it. Ugh…so glamorous!
Since Bridget ended up with Mark Darcy, a human rights Barrister…and I’ve just chatting with a nice, but seemingly unavailable, man who happens to be a family law barrister…could this be another sign that Bridget and I are indeed aligned?! Now that would be hilarious…and a little bit spooky! In the meantime I shall remain, just like Bridget, a wonten sex goddess…
After all, aren’t we all waiting for someone who loves us…just as we are?