Bridget Jones in Mid-Missouri

I have a soft spot for the Bridget Jones heroine. Critics have maintained that she’s a dumbass; that no woman in her right mind would want to be mistaken for her, be classified as her, but deep down, we all have a bit of Bridget Jones in us.

Some of us more than others.

Myself really. Especially now that I’ve turned 32—and isn’t that where Bridget Jones’ saga starts? In her 32nd year? She’s at the New Year’s Turkey Curry buffet, and there is Mark Darcy—and boom, her life changes forever. She doesn’t want to be the laughing stock. She needs to crack down, get serious, and get a boyfriend.

So last Friday, I went out with Sin, who was having a crap week. We agreed to go drinking. Any way I can support a friend with beer, I’m there. Of course the problem with this is that I drank more than she did, so she had to put up with me. (So much for capping off her crap week nicely, right?) After a pitcher and a half of Miller Lite (that’s just my consumption, and I was massively upset we were leaving behind half a pitcher of beer), we leave and Sin drives us to the Mall. We wander around for a while—and I buy a Sinatra CD—and then we wander back to the movie theater. We go inside, we buy tickets and soda, and then we go into the theater.

Sin wants to sit in the back, but not in the back row. (The lights get in the way.) There is a row where long-legged people can sit and not feel cramped. She picks this row, and I plop down beside her in the midst of a beer-buzz. No one in front of me. Perfect. We chat and giggle a bit. No idea what we are talking about. I’m wondering if I should pee again—I’ve only already gone about a dozen times—but to be sure, I don’t want to go during the movie. I kick off my shoes. This is my M.O. I start undoing buttons, taking off items of clothing…I’m surprised I’m not naked by the end of films.

A couple comes in and sits in the row in front of us. Her hair is jacked to Jesus—she, of course, sits in front of me. I can’t see. Stadium seating, my ass. Sin says, “You want to move?” I’m trying not to be a total pain in the ass, so I say, “I’ll move. I’ll sit on your other side.” I kick my stuff to her other side, sit, and put my feet up. Ninety seconds later, a new couple comes in and sits in front of me. More hair jacked to Jesus.

By now Sin is laughing so hard, she struggling to muffle it in her coat. I give her a look and she says, “Let’s move a row back.” Awesome. I get up, start throwing my purse and shoes to the row behind us, and watch Sin cleverly negotiate a straddle across a row of stadium seats. She hops and boom, she’s seated again. Well, hell, I think, I can do that. (Beer, you recall.) I hitch my pants, fling a leg over the seating, and go to hurdle—just as I hear “Hi Hellion” from above. I look up, and there’s my Mark Darcy in the row where I normally sit, presumably with his girlfriend who is also smiling at all this activity. “That’s Hellion," he points, then waves.

Hell. Seriously what are the odds? I mean, my Finite Mathematics teacher couldn’t have come up with a formula to predict this.

However, unlike Bridget who would have fallen backwards, sent her skirt flying over her waist and shown off her sunflower panties (that was a different episode)—I managed to finish hurdling the seats, sit down, and proceeded to concentrate in not moving for the next two hours. Which was hard considering I’d had a bunch of beer, and I could have probably peed twice more.

No idea what the movie was about.

Anyone else have any Bridget Jones’ moments? Any romantic comedy heroines you totally relate to?