Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy(50)
‘No one.’
‘I demand to know.’
‘I’m not, it’s just—’
‘I shall punish you.’
‘I just thought you’d like to have them to stay.’
‘Jones. You have always been the most cataclysmically awful liar. I am wild with sexual jealousy. I feel tragic, a past-it old fool.’
‘Daniel, don’t be ridiculous, you’re incredibly attractive and virile and young-looking and irresistibly sexy and—’
‘I know, Jones, I know. Thank you, thank you.’
Upshot is Daniel is coming round on Friday at six thirty to take them to his place!
TO SLEEP WITH OR NOT TO SLEEP WITH?
Wednesday 30 January 2013
Pros of sleeping with Roxster 12, cons of sleeping with Roxster 3, percentage of time spent deciding whether or not to sleep with Roxster, preparing for possibility of sleeping with Roxster and imagining sleeping with Roxster compared with actual time it would probably take to sleep with Roxster 585%.
9.30 p.m. Just called Tom. ‘OF COURSE YOU HAVE TO SLEEP WITH HIM,’ he said. ‘You have to lose your Born-Again Virginity, or it’ll just turn into a bigger and bigger obstacle. Talitha says he’s a good chap. And besides, it’s an opportunist crime. How often do you get the house to yourself?’
Called up Talitha to cross-check with her view:
‘What did I tell you about not sleeping with anyone too soon?’
‘You said, “not before you feel ready”, not “too soon”,’ I elucidated, then reiterated Tom’s argument, adding, to give strength to my position: ‘We’ve been texting for weeks. Surely it’s rather like in Jane Austen’s day when they did letter-writing for months and months and then just, like, immediately got married?’
‘Bridget. Sleeping with a twenty-nine-year-old off Twitter on the second date is not “rather like in Jane Austen’s day”.’
‘But it was you who said, “She has to get laid.”’
‘Well, all right, I know. And Roxster seems a sterling chap. Just go with your gut, darling. But keep safe, keep in touch and use a condom.’
‘Condoms! I’m not going to sleep with him! What are you supposed to do about being naked?’
‘You get a slip, darling.’
‘A slip – like the zoo form?’
‘Go to La Perla – no, don’t go to La Perla, the expense is eye-watering. Go to Intimissimi or La Senza and get yourself a couple of little short black silk sexy slips. I think, when you were last doing this, they were called “petticoats”. Or maybe one black, one white. With a slip, you can show off your arms and legs and décolletage, which are always the last to go, but keep the central area – which we might want to gloss over – glossed over. OK?’
Thursday 31 January 2013
10 a.m. Just logged onto email.
Sender: Brian Katzenberg
Subject: Your screenplay
10.01 a.m. Yayy! Screenplay has been accepted!
10.02 a.m Oh.
Sender: Brian Katzenberg
Subject: Your screenplay
We have a couple of responses on your script. They are passing. The themes are fascinating but they’re wanting more of a romcom feel. I’ll keep trying.
10.05 a.m. Sent fraudulently cheery email back saying:
Thanks, Brian. Fingers crossed.
But now am slumped in despair. Am failure as screenwriter. Am going to go shopping for underwear.
Noon. Just back from purchasing slip, though am not going to sleep with Roxster. Obviously.
2 p.m. Just back from leg and bikini wax. Though am not going to sleep with him, obviously.
At the beauty salon, Chardonnay said I should have a Brazilian because that is what the young men expect these days and suggested I buy a course of laser treatments.
‘But’, I said, ‘what if Brazilians go out of fashion and the thing is to have a fulsome giant bush like French people again?’
At this, Chardonnay revealed that she had had the whole thing lasered so she was like a baby girl. But, as she says, she worries now, what if she sleeps with someone who doesn’t like the full Brazilian? And admitted that she had toyed with the idea of putting that potion onto it that makes bald men’s hair grow back.
3.15 p.m. In total agony. Opted for a sort of modified Brazilian known as ‘landing strip’. Is no possibility of ever having sex with anyone after this, which is fine as am not going to sleep with him anyway. Obviously.
Friday 1 February 2013
9.30 a.m. Leaped furtively into Boots after school drop-off to purchase condoms, since could not do it with children in tow. (Though, on other hand, presence of children might have suggested condom-purchase was sign of responsible attitude to world overpopulation, rather than loose behaviour.)
Was just standing at till, when had a sense of someone glancing at basket. Looked up to see Mr Wallaker at the next till, now staring implacably ahead, though he had obviously seen the condoms, because of the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Completely brazened it out by also looking straight ahead and saying, ‘Terrible weather for the rugby match today, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, it’s sometimes rather enjoyable in the mud,’ he said, picking up his Boots bag with a tiny snort of amusement. ‘Enjoy your weekend.’