Page 140 - Bridget Jones's Diary - by Helen FIELDING

basically it's extremely hard work looking after a toddler and a baby all day, and

it doesn't stop. When Jeremy comes home at the end of the day he wants to put
his feet up and be nurtured and, as I imagine all the time now, fantasize about
girls in leotards at the Harbour Club.

'I had a proper job before. I know for a fact it's much more fan going out to

work, getting all dressed up, flirting in the office and having nice lunches than
going to the bloody supermarket and picking Harry up from playgroup. But
there's always this aggrieved air that I'm some sort of ghastly Harvey Nichols-
obsessed lady who lunches while he earns all the money.'

She's so beautiful, Magda. I watched her toying with her champagne glass
despondently and wondered what the answer is for we girls. Talk about grass is
always bloody greener. The number of times I've slumped, depressed, thinking
how useless I am and that I spend every Saturday night getting blind drunk and

moaning to Jude and Shazzer or Tom about not having a boyfriend; I struggle to
make ends meet and am ridiculed as an unmarried freak, whereas Magda lives in
a big house with eight different kinds of pasta in jars, and gets to go shopping all
day. And yet here she is so beaten, miserable and unconfident and telling me I'm
lucky . . .

'Ooh, by the way, she said, brightening, talking of Harvey Nicks, I got the
most wonderful Joseph shift dress in there today - red, two buttons at one side at
the neck, very nicely cut, £280. God, I so much wish I was like you, Bridge, and
could just have an affair. Or have bubble bath, for two hours on Sunday
morning. Or stay out all night with no questions asked. Don't suppose you fancy

coming shopping tomorrow morning, do you?'

'Er. Well, I've got to go to work,' I said.

'Oh,' said Magda, looking momentarily surprised. You know,' she went on,
toying with her champagne, 'Once you get the feeling that there's a woman your
husband prefers to you, it becomes rather miserable being at home, imagining all

the versions of that type of woman he might run into out in the world. You do
feel rather powerless.'