Beloved Bridget

alcohol units: 0 (good from a Puritan perspective but means have not had sexy cocktail in chic bar today); number of toasted peanut butter and jam sandwiches: 2 (not bad considering that the bread was wholewheat); number of hours spent watching television: have neither the strength nor inclination to accurately determine; love for Bridget and other ladies like her: boundless!

Battling severe anger, frustration and a desperate need to slaughter one of my fellow humans with a dull instrument, I carefully weighed my options. I could a) burst into loud and angry tears b) scream and throw things randomly c) reach for the words of my beloved Bridget and comfort myself by nodding vigorously along with her paranoid neuroses. Fear of curious intervention from my neighbours and the sneaking suspicion that my parents would be displeased if I demolished the house simply because I was “cranky and miserable” lead me to option c). I grabbed my copy of Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason from its place on my alphabetized shelf and began to read. As expected, even though I did not magically float softly onto a fluffy cloud nine (the sky and all things in it are highly overrated anyway) I did feel somewhat better…

I was introduced to the wonder that is Bridget Jones and the entire genre of “Chick Lit” by Professor Donna Freitas in my Women’s Spirituality class. The topic at hand was the veritable paucity of stories with female protagonists that outline the struggles that everyday women face. We spoke of the value of reading stories with which we could easily identify and cited this feeling of comfort and relation as the reason for the overwhelming response to Bridget and similar characters.

As I relaxed on my couch, trying to ignore the boiling furnace that is Barbados and focus on the words of Bridget, I started to ponder the wisdom of Prof. Freitas (or Donna as she prefers to be called while flipping her hair and addressing the class from a lotus-like position atop her desk). I realised over and over the truth in Donna’s words and in those of other Bridget fans.

Bridget is accessible, highly accessible. The author Helen Fielding did a brilliant job, in my view, of delivering Bridget raw and unedited, which adds to her incontrovertible charm. Fielding did what few dare to do. She outlined Bridget’s paranoid thoughts, nervous actions, man troubles, fumbling responses, struggles with several vices, thigh thickening habits and delightfully tortured existence in embarrassing detail, regardless of the stigma attached by traditional feminists to portraying the vulnerable side of womanhood.

I smiled at Bridget’s determined vows to “stop doing [insert bad habit here] tomorrow” and silent pep talks to herself “Am going to be positive about this. Am going to be marvellous: elegant, vivacious, beautifully dressed”. I laughed at the conversations with her friends: their indignant responses on her behalf regarding the offending Mr. Darcy and “jellyfish” Rebecca along with their comforting faxes of dildos with tongues attached.

I do not idolise Bridget. I am also (thankfully) not identical to her, but I see enough of myself in her sometimes to feel comforted. Moreover, I smile at the knowledge that millions of women the world over can say the same.

Fielding beautifully documents things that are so often done, but rarely openly admitted. Reading about Bridget’s paranoid message checking re: Mr. Darcy makes me laugh and feel a little less silly at my own forays into (secretly) irrational behaviour where the opposite sex is concerned. Sigh, can we say the patented msn add-delete-add-delete, not to mention the hi5 profile checks? *shakes head*

Bridget’s “happening to drive past his house” after they argue and “willing the phone to ring” while silently berating herself for caring so much are not only amusing but annoyingly close to situations that many of us have been in at some time or the other, sometimes more often than we wish to admit. Bridget may not always be the most sensible, logical or rational she is REAL and when it comes down to it, that really is all that anyone can ask for – pure honesty of emotion and logic, regardless of how terribly warped on occasion.

I dedicate this blog my improved versions of Jude, Shazzer and Magda: the future neo-natologist, Gingerbush and Madame Jeffries, our trips to the café near midnight to buy fruit smoothies after swearing to a) stop eating junk food b) stop spending unnecessary money and c) stay in our townhouse and study instead of going to the café and buying smoothies. Here’s to never forgetting about “cupcakes with feelings” and our heartfelt wishes for ACME anvils falling to fall on the heads of E, Moe/Mu/Moooo and the chica that should vacate the block…

May we always be willing to laugh at ourselves and admit that we, like Bridget, spend an awful lot of time on “the edge of reason.”