Typically bridget

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We’ve all seen the movie right? The wonderfully hapless Bridget Jones drowning her sorrrows in a tub of Ben and Jerry’s whilst sporting the latest fashion in duvets. What is it about us women that immediately makes us dive for consolation in the form of something sinfully gooey in quantities we’d normally cringe at the thought of. I wonder why we’re so predictably cliched to the point that they even make movies about us highlighting our more obvious behaviour.

Guily *hand up*

Going through a painful breakup myself i shamefully admit i have become essentially Bridget although my Ben and Jerry’s is more of the M&Ms variety and far from wailing all by myself in a tastefully messy bedroom i have instead resorted to crime drama and moving furniture and sniffling over breakup songs on youtube. What can i say i like having control over something right now even if it is just the current days position of the sofa.
Why do we do it? I mean never yet have i seen a single movie where some dejected guy is welded dolefully to his bed whilst putting himself on the outside of a three gallon tub of ice cream. No, in movies men go out and get a new girlfriend whilst little miss slightly tubby has a minor breakdown and murders every break up song ever heard before sobbing hysterically that nobody will ever love her. Hmmmm not a good stereotype really i think. Yet that is exactly what we women do.

Then true to form being as predictable as we are we then launch head first into reinventing ourselves in a bid to ‘fix’ all of the things that are wrong with us. You wouldn’t be single if you were prettier, thinner, blonder, taller etc etc so partly in a guilty bid to rid ourselves of the results of our gastronomic decline we haul our spare tyre into the gym, buy endless new outfits (in a size smaller of course) and embark on a whole new look. Again hand up for i am guilty of all of those and confess to spending 20 minutes leaping about like a nutcase trying to squeeze into size 8 jeans.Perfect, exactly one size too small, something to aim for!! Horrified i had only realised just how womanly predictable i was when a friend sent me an article about the 7 things not to do after a break up. Oh dear well i’ve already done four of those only 3 left to go OOPS!! Who am i to disappoint??

Much later wailing along to all by myself along with Bridget on dvd i suddenly had a fit of the giggles as i realised that in the space of just one week i have, minus the cigarettes and alcohol, become Bridget Jones, spinster. Oh dear. Still you can’t help but love her no matter how hapless she is and i live in hope that far from finding me miserable and grumpy, those who know me will decide i’m adorable and indeed very’Bridget’
I couldn’t help but wonder as an aside just how many tubs of Ben and jerrys are purchased to be consumed in a non emotional moment and whether the company would actually go out of business should we women all cease to become such emotional puddles of unconsolable depression.
Still there is a lot to be said for reinventing oneself and may i be forgiven if i cannot raise my hand a third time,the gym definitely has a lot to answer for. Perhaps it is no bad thing to effect a change after all, perhaps the new me may be far better than the old and i have to admit i do rather like being a blonde again even if it is on the No No list of ‘after a breakup’
Perhaps i am more predicatably female than i ever imagined, perhaps we all are yet strangely i do not feel offended for once at the thought of being like everyone else. Duvets have their place and time in life as does Ben and Jerrys as Bridget and i both agree. Still on to number 5 on my list and time to fit into those jeans.
Better to be typically Bridget.

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New Year Dread-olutions

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Yes its that old January time again and just the same as every year i ponder the resolutions i’m going to make. They rarely vary much and whilst i don’t exactly break them i couldn’t say i exactly keep them either. As usual on the top of the list is the inevitable post christmas diet which, were i to stick to my pre christmas vow, would not really be necessary. But as usual i ate too much,  wolfed down more chocolate than a cadburys taste tester and generally overindulged on a grand scale. After so many months of restriction it is rather reminiscent of offering water to a man in a desert and so rapidly the pounds piled on. Fortunately i know when to stop and as january rolls around i was once again haunting the aisles of the local supermarket avidly scouring labels. 

I am actually quite resolute once i actually set my mind to something and since i like being slim more than i like my beloved chocolate i wasn’t too unhappy about the diet at all. Until……

Sitting in the mall later that day i had forgone the greasy pasties my companions had favoured and instead had opted for a lower calorie salad sandwich. I had just taken a bite when a blur appeared infront of me and thrust a small plastic bag at me saying ”Here have a freebie” before rushing away. Rather startled i lowered my sandwich and peered inside, wondering what on earth she had given me. My expression changed somewhat as i pulled out a notebook, pen and shopping bag all emblazoned with the words ‘WEIGHT WATCHERS’

Now whilst i may mention dieting i am not infact obese, being 5ft 10 and a healthy size 10. I had certainly not considered myself as looking in need of Weight Watchers and to say i was rather offended was putting it somewhat mildly. Truth be told i seethed about it for rather some time afterwards muttering crossly to myself in the mirror as i tried to breathe in hard and look like a size 8. Eventually i had to breathe out and pondered for some time the positives and negatives of wearing corsets in the modern day world. Bridget knickers perhaps??

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So the New Year diet is in full swing and i sat today dolefully prodding at my cottage cheese wishing it were something a sight more interesting. I do not dislike Cottage cheese but it is one of those foods one would definitely not rush to get in line for. The kitten twitches its nose in the direction of my lunch trying to decide if i am eating anything tasty and i wave a forkful in her direction. ”Help yourself” i tell her generously, but she twitches her nose again and decides i am not eating anything palatable and stares balefully at me before settling back to sleep.

”No” i tell her prodding it again ”I wouldn’t eat it if i had a choice either”

Perhaps the cat has the right idea and next year i should bypass the chocolate, ditch the cottage cheese and make an altogether more exciting resolution.

Skydiving anyone??

The perils of not paying attention

 Well day three and back to the gym we go, rain drizzling madly as usual as we trudged along the road. The thought of hitting the gym on a saturday was pretty daunting, for my love handles and i were not ready to encounter the guys just yet and they held on firmly to the door frame wailing ‘ pleeeease don’t make me go in!!’  Dear daughter and i had figured that most guys would be there on a saturday afternoon and pre lunch we would be safe….WRONG!! The gym was busy, very busy and apart from some cobweb delicate little waiflet who looked like a puff of wind would blow her away we were the only girls. 

Great, time to pull the stomach in and walk slowly so the wobbly bits dont start shouting ‘LOOK MA I’M A JELLY!!’  Okay so i’m not that bad but it does make you kind of paranoid working out in a gym full of perfect bodies when youre more Bridget Jones than Beyonce, trust me. Just then dear daughter hisses really loudly ‘MUM there’s that guy that stares at you in town’…….. oh goody!! Yes this particular guy always catches my eye in town whenever i see him and i’m nice i say hello but do i want him watching me work out?…erm NO!!

Ten minutes later firmly ensconced upon the treadmill dear daughter was gloomily prodding her lower stomach bewailing its size whilst i pinched the spare wobble under my derriere to keep her company reassuring her she was not the only one. A muffled snort followed as dear daughter stage whispers ‘mum that guys eyebrows just shot up and he smirked like crazy when you did that’ Okay comedy moment followed i blushed furiously, lost my composure and kicked the front of the treadmill causing me to wobble and sail backwards flailing wildly. Just managing to jump onto the sides before i fell off i collapsed into giggles as did the young guy behind me who had clearly thought it a moment worthy of You’ve been framed’  Luckily i am not one to be so easily embarrassed so i had no qualms about getting back on but that will teach me to keep my concentration in future. 

I guess we are lucky where we live for the gym is quite small and everyone very friendly, the guys more than happy to make room for the girls and offer advice if we need it. Still bewailing the less than perfection of her stomach dear daughter enlists the aid of the very helpful trainer to advise on exercise and issue the most golden moment of the day. Eyeing her up and down he glanced at her middle and said ‘oh just had a baby have you?’

SILENCE

Well dear daughter has never had children and the furiously indignant look on her face would be guaranteed to turn any man to stone. Admittedly the only thing he could’ve said that was worse is ‘ARE you pregnant’ Yes and panda brain instantly had images of the trainer shrunk to 3 inches high running around in circles screeching ‘I’M SORRY!!’ in a high pitched voice. Protesting loudly that he was a ‘cheeky sod’ she indignantly enlightened him to the fact she is infact childless, which escalated further when very helpful trainer unabashedly announces that usually only women with children have kangaroo pouches. Oh dear, he would have been most wise to stop talking right about then.

I really shouldn’t laugh but as i said before dear daughter is most funny when in a mood and her disgruntled diatribe continued long after we had reached home. Still going some time later i had to sympathise somewhat with almost son in law as he stood in hesitant confusion wondering what to say and perhaps was wisest of all in remaining quiet. As evening rolled in and my arm muscles screamed in protest i pondered starvation as even the effort of lifting a cup proved difficult then reassured myself it will all be worth it…..eventually.

The Art of Being Bridget

I’ve never been much of a girl for ‘chick flicks’ .

Usually i find the sickly sweet  ‘boy meets girl, mishap, misunderstanding and all’s well that ends well’  predictability rather nauseating.Two perfect people with a few predictable stumbles along the way finally ending up together in some flowery perfect romance of the most unlikely kind. But this aside i find i have one exception, a great love for Helen Fielding’s book and further movie ‘Bridget Jones Diary’ 

Bridget appeals, is realistically imperfect and blunders her way through life with a literal, endearing charm that leaves you feeling like you just met your best friend.  Add to this the reserved charm of the oh so handsome Mr Darcy ( yes i confess it i have a huge crush on Colin Firth) and you have a book and movie most of us will laugh, cry and sigh wistfully along with right to the very end. 

Bridget is…..well, just Bridget!! You cannot help but love her and right from the start you root for her at every step of the way, cringing at her faux pas and cheering when she gets it right. Everything about Bridget is so very wrong and yet so very right. Who among us doesnt feel an affinity for those ‘big pants’ that we all pretend we do not own yet invariably have hidden in some furtive corner of a drawer. Don’t we all wish some handsome Mr Darcy-esque figure would adore all our failings and announce they like us just the way we are?? I for one certainly would!

Bridget tells it like it is, no frills or fripperies and i cannot not help but laugh for she is very like myself blurting out exactly what is on her mind with no thought of the consequences. And yes i too have gotten myself into many a scrape by doing exactly so. Although i confess i have never drunkenly wailed along to ‘all by myself’ not yet made blue soup i cannot help but feel so in tune with Bridget and laugh and cry along with her life. 

We mourn our weight, bewail our tragic love lives and vow every Monday that we will start a diary of our very own for failings or not we all want,  just like Bridget,  to be just the way we are and to be loved for it. 

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