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Last Sunday night I saw Bridget Jones’ Diary on television. It was on again this Sunday night and, since it was a million degrees inside my naturally cooled home (aka fans and windows), I watched it again as I prayed for the temp to go down. Hours later, when the indoors had finally cooled to come close to matching the outdoors, my youngest daughter wanted me to go work out with her. She likes to “grow her muscles.” An admirable trait in someone so young. So I grabbed the DVD of Bridget Jones Edge of Reason and headed to the exercise room, which is the highest room in our house, thus the warmest.

In the first film, Bridget natters on about her single status, her weight, her cigarette and alcohol consumption. In an infamous scene in which she first sleeps with Hugh Grant’s character, she is caught out wearing slimming granny panties.

Later, she answers the phone with the smart, “Bridget Jones, wanton sex goddess with a very bad man between her thighs.” Once dumped, she jumps on the spin bike, sheds some pounds, gains some confidence, and is rewarded by being told by Colin Firth’s character, Mark Darcy, that he likes her just as she is.

Fast forward to the sequel, where Bridget hides in a sheet as she dresses to keep Darcy from seeing her naked, at which point he says he likes her wobbly bits. Better than calorie-free dark chocolate, right ladies?

Does anyone remember the scene near the end of the first film where Bridget is running after Darcy, who’s read the awful things she’s said about him in her diary? She’s in her leopard-print panties, which she’s donned in anticipation of romance, and a too-short cami as she runs out the door of her apartment. This scene gives me nightmares. Is that what most of us look like from that angle? Horror of horrors.

So I’m on the spin bike, with no tension, but, hey, it was a million degrees, and, for a cool down, I’m on my back, knees bent, lifting the four-year-old with my legs like she’s flying. I’m wearing nylon workout shorts and a sports bra. And she says, “Mom, you look like you’re going to have another baby. Is that just fat?” This last bit means we have, at least, successful drilled into her that she will definitely be the last sibling.

Goodbye, middle-aged wanton sex goddess, hello Bridget worrying about her wobbly bits. Hey, since you’re so close, would you mind passing the cheese balls?

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