Page 172 - Bridget Jones's Diary - by Helen FIELDING

forgotten to do any revision and I'm wearing nothing except my Domestic

Science apron, trying desperately to pull it round me so Miss Chignall won't see
that I'm wearing no pants. I expected Daniel to at least be sympathetic. I know-
it's all to do with my worries about where my career is leading me but he just lit
himself a cigarette and asked me to run over the bit about the Domestic Science
apron again.

'It's all right for you with your bloody Cambridge First.' I whispered, sniffing.
'I'll never forget the moment when I looked at the notice board and saw a D next
to French and knew I couldn't go to Manchester. It altered the course of my
whole life.'

'You should thank your lucky stars, Bridge,' he said, lying on his back and
blowing smoke at the ceiling. 'You'd probably have married some crashing
Geoffrey Boycott character and spent the rest of your life cleaning out the

whippet cage. Anyway . . . ' he started laughing, ' . . . there's nothing wrong with
a degree from . . . from . . . ' (he was so amused now he could hardly speak) ' . . .
Bangor.'

'Right, that's it. I'm sleeping on the sofa,' I yelled, jumping out of bed.

'Hey, don't be like that, Bridge,' he said, pulling me back. 'You know I think
you're a . . . an intellectual giant. You just need to learn how to interpret dreams.'

'What's the dream telling me, then?' I said sulkily. 'That I haven't fulfilled my
potential inteflectually?'

'Not exactly.'

'What, then?'

'Well, I think the pantless apron is a pretty obvious symbol, isn't it?'

'What?'