Page 217 - Bridget Jones's Diary - by Helen FIELDING

'Are you going with Julio or Dad?' I said, to shut her up.

'Oh, darling, I don't know. Probably both of them,' she said in the special,
breathy voice she reserves for when she thinks she is Diana Dors.

'You can't do that.'

'But Daddy and I are still fiends, darling. I'm just friends with Julio as well.'

Grr. Grr. Grrr. I absolutely cannot deal with her when she's like this.

'Anyway, I'll tell Elaine you'd love to come, shall I?' she said, picking up the
inexplicable sewing machine as she headed for the door. 'Must fly. Byee!'

I am not going to spend another evening being danced about in front of Mark
Darcy like a spoonful of puried turnip in front of a baby. I am going to have to
leave the country or something.

8 p.m. Off to dinner party. All the Smug Marrieds keep inviting me on Saturday
nights now I am alone again, seating me opposite an increasingly horrifying
selection of single men. It is very kind of them and I appreciate it v. much but it
only seems to highlight my emotional failure and isolation - though Magda says
I should remember that being single is better than having an adulterous, sexually
incontinent husband.

Midnight. Oh dear. Everyone was trying to cheer up the spare man (thirty-
seven, newly divorced by wife, sample view: 'I have to say, I do think Michael
Howard is somewhat unfairly maligned.').

'Don't know what you're complaining about,' Jeremy was holding forth to him.
'Men get more attractive when they get older and women get less attractive, so