Bridget, again

In January of 2004 a column appeared in this very publication titled, “Confessions of a Frivolous Woman”; it centered around one main character – Mr. Darcy.

I wrote it.

I confessed to an unabashed love for Colin Firth (who is the quintessential Darcy.)

I also confessed to being frivolous.

I have matured significantly and no longer consider myself to be such.

I am still madly in love with Darcy.

In 2004 I stated, “Colin Firth (Mr. Darcy) is the all-time greatest man to have ever walked the face of this earth. Simple as that.”

Last night I watched the brand spanking new Bridget Jones movie in which Firth revives his role as Darcy, the reserved (uptight) barrister with whom Bridget (definitely not uptight – actually kind of a shit show) falls in love.

My feelings have not waned, even a bit. If anything, my passion has deepened.

Twelve years ago I also told the world, “I live for movies where the not-quite-perfect gal gets the oh-so-perfect-guy who’s not so perfect to start with and who ultimately realizes that she is truly perfect in every way. I am a director’s dream; I laugh when I should, swoon when I’m supposed to, and sob right along with the heartbroken heroine, feeling better only when she does.”

It happened again last night – possibly because in addition to knowing that Darcy will fall for me as soon as he meets me, I also know that Ms. Jones and I would be the very best of friends if we were to have the opportunity to hang out.

I love her with all of my heart.

The movie begins with the funeral of Daniel Cleaver; I was wondering how they managed to get Hugh Grant out of Jones’ world. It was a tidy solution.

Until it wasn’t – but that’s another tale to tell.

So the handsome competition against whom Darcy is pitted is Patrick Dempsey.

Ding Dong.

Or “Ding Fing Dong” as my gal B said.

He is beyond yummy. He, as Bridget’s paramour, is perfect in every way: charming, smart, sweet, romantic, lovely, a gazillionaire.

He’s not McDreamy for unknown reasons.

Sex with Darcy looked a little awkward in comparison to sex with Jack Qwant.

I found myself, just like Bridget does, torn between my old love for Darcy and the newness (and utter sexiness) of Qwant.

Right there, in the glorious yellow recliners in the Gaslight Theater, I began to suffer minor feelings of guilt.

Was I betraying Darcy?

Was I betraying Firth?

I vacillated, I swooned, I agonized.

Unlike Bridget, I am not pregnant and uncertain about the paternity of my unborn child.

Thank God.

If I were, we’d be having a different discussion altogether.

And I’d probably be having one with my shrink too.

But, how could I possibly waver from Darcy?

I feel unfaithful.

Does this mean that in my real life I am indecisive, non-committal, and untrue?

Could something new and shiny distract me from my heart’s true love? Another movie was playing in Durango last night – a movie that I had every intention of seeing. A movie in which my dear friend starred.

A serious movie about a man and a horse.

As my day at work wore on, my resolution to drive all the way over the hill dissolved. After rising at 4:45 for the fourth day in a row and spending 11 hours on my feet for those four days, I decided that a short visit with my neighbor and a hot date with my book was the perfect end to my workweek.

But the combination of Colin Firth at the Gaslight Theater with the curl-up seats tugged at my heart strings.

Then, my neighbor, mother of two small children, said, “What are your plans tonight? When Husband gets home will you take me away?”

Well, obviously the answer was yes. I am always happy to provide escape for a fellow mom going bat-shit crazy day in and day out with multiple under-8-year-olds.

We could have gone somewhere in town.

We could have hung out at my house.

We could very easily, since we were open to the half-hour drive, have gone to the man/horse film.

But the stars aligned; obviously we were destined to see the ultimate chick flick – to feel giddy, to tear up, to giggle, to agonize, to cheer on our friend, and to fall in love.

Sorry, horse.

I won’t spoil it for anyone but let me just say that, for me, my adoration for Darcy won out. I remain faithful.

Which is probably good news for my boyfriend.

Suzanne Strazza is an award-winning writer in Mancos, Colo.

From Suzanne Strazza.