Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy(7)
Subject: Atticus’s shoes
Atticus came home wearing Luigi’s shoe but his other shoe is also not his nor is it labelled. I would appreciate the return of both of Atticus’s shoes, both of which were clearly labelled.
12.35 p.m. Decided to join in group exchange to show solidarity and take mind off work.
Sender: Bridget Billymum
Subject: Re: Atticus’s shoes
Just to clarify – did Atticus and Luigi go home from swimming just wearing one shoe each?
12.40 p.m. Hee hee, have triggered funny mass email response: jokes about children coming home with no trousers, knickers, etc.
Sender: Bridget Billymum
Subject: Billy’s ear
Billy came home from football last night wearing only one ear. Does anyone have Billy’s other ear? It was VERY clearly labelled and I would appreciate its prompt return.
12.45 p.m. Tee hee.
Sender: Nicolette Martinez
Subject: Re: Billy’s ear
Some parents appear to think that the boys taking care of their own property and the parents clearly labelling it is a matter for amusement. It is actually important for their development as self-reliant individuals. Perhaps if it was their child’s shoes which were missing they would take a different view.
12.50 p.m. Oh no, oh no. Have offended Class Mother and probably horrified everyone else as well. Will send direct mass apology.
Sender: Bridget Billymum
Subject:Atticus’s shoes, Billy’s ears, etc.
I’m sorry, Nicorette. I was trying to write and bored and just joking. Am very bad.
12.55 p.m. Gaaah!
Sender: Nicolette Martinez
Subject: Bridget Jones
Bridget – Possibly the misspelling of my name was a Freudian slip. I think we all know you struggle with the occasional smoking lapse. If it was intentional it was hurtful and rude. Perhaps we need to talk all this through with the head of Pastoral Care.
NicoLette
Shit! I called her Nicorette! Look. Don’t dig yourself in further. Just leave it now and concentrate!
1.47 p.m. This is ridiculous! I’m just COMPLETELY blocked.
1.48 p.m. All the class mothers hate me and Roxster has not replied.
1.52 p.m. Slumped at kitchen table.
1.53 p.m. Look. No going over to the dark side. Grazina the Cleaner will be here any second and she can’t see me like this. Will leave a note re insect plague and go to Starbucks.
2.16 p.m. In Starbucks now with ham-and-cheese panini. Right.
3.16 p.m. Huge gaggles of posh mothers with prams have taken cafe over, talking really loudly about their husbands.
3.17 p.m. Is so noisy in here. Hate people who talk on their phones in cafes – ooh, phone, maybe Roxster!
3.30p.m. Was Jude, clearly in meeting, whispering furtively, ‘Bridget. Vile Richard has totally fallen for Isabella.’
‘Who’s Isabella?’ I whispered urgently back.
‘The girl we made up on PlentyofFish. Vile Richard’s fixed to have a date with her tomorrow.’
‘But she isn’t real.’
‘Exactly. She’s me. He’s arranged to meet me, I mean her, at the Shadow Lounge and she’s going to stand him up.’
‘Brilliant,’ I whispered, as Jude said bossily, ‘So just put a stop order of two million yen at a hundred and twenty-five and wait for the quarterly profits.’ Then whispered, ‘And simultaneously, the guy I met on DatingSingleDoctors is meeting me – the actual me – two blocks away at the Soho Hotel.’
‘Great!’ I said, confusedly.
‘I know, right? Gottogobye.’
Hope the man from DatingSingleDoctors doesn’t turn out to be made up by Vile Richard.
3.40 p.m. Roxster still has not texted. Cannot concentrate. Am going home.
4 p.m. Got home to find terrifyingly pungent old-lady smell. Grazina had diligently followed my scribbled instructions, thrown all the food away, cleaned and sprayed everything and put mothballs in and behind any conceivable entry or exit to all floorboards, walls, doors or items of furniture. Will take me all weekend, and possibly rest of life, to find and destroy all mothballs. No moth could live through this or, crucially, toy boy. But that is, presumably, irrelevant, as STILL NO TEXT.
4.15 p.m. Gaah! There is bang, clatter and voices of everyone coming home. Is Friday night, is time for Chloe to leave and have not prepared my Thoughts.
4.16 p.m. How could Roxster not respond? Even though my last text was a question. Or was it? Will just check my last text again.
<So sorry about the Nine Plagues of Egypt and for laughing. Will have entire house and occupants fumigated for your next visit. Are you all right?>
Lurched in dismay. There was not only a question, an ending of text with a question, but an undeniably presumptuous presumption that I would see Roxster again.
6 p.m. Went downstairs, attempting to conceal meltdown from Billy and Mabel (who fortunately, as is weekend, were absorbed respectively in Plants vs. Zombies and Beverly Hills Chihuahua 2) whilst simultaneously heating up spag bog (actually spag cheese without spag as Grazina has thrown away all the pasta). Finally, when supper was over, something about loading the dishwasher made me crack and send Roxster a fraudulently cheery text saying: <It’s the weeeeeeekend!>
Then went into paroxysms of agony, so bad that I had to let Billy just stay permanently killing plants with zombies, and Mabel watching Beverly Hills Chihuahua 2 for the seventh time so they wouldn’t notice. Realized was irresponsible and lazy parenting, but decided not as bad as emotional damage inflicted by awareness of melting-down mother over someone closer in age to – Gaaah! Is Roxster actually closer in age to Mabel than me? No, but I think he might be to Billy. Oh God. What am I thinking? No wonder he has stopped texting.