Page 72 - Bridget Jones's Diary - by Helen FIELDING

Saturday 25 February

8st 10 (miracle: sex proved indeed to be best form of exercise), alcohol units 0,
cigarettes 0, calories 200 (at last have found the secret of not eating: simply

replace food with sex).

6 p.m. Oh joy. Have spent the day in a state I can only describe as shag-
drunkenness, mooning about the flat, smiling, picking things up and putting
them down again. It was so lovely. The only down points were 1) immediately
after it was over Daniel said, 'Damn. I meant to take the car into the Citroën

garage,' and 2) when I got up to go to the bathroom he pointed out that I had a
pair of tights stuck to the back of my calf.

But as the rosy clouds begin to disperse, I begin to feel alarm. What now? No

plans were made. Suddenly I realize I am waiting for the phone again. How can
it be that the situation between the sexes after a first night remains so
agonizingly imbalanced? Feel as if I have just sat an exam and must wait for my
results.

11 p.m. Oh God. Why hasn't Daniel rung? Are we going out now, or what? How

come my mum can slip easily from one relationship to another and I can't even
get the simplest thing off the ground. Maybe their generation is just better at
getting on with relationships? Maybe they don't mooch about being all paranoid
and diffident. Maybe it helps if you've never read a self-help book in your life.