Many of you have already seen this post on my website, but I've had a few people ask me about it lately, so I thought I would add it to my blog as well. Enjoy ;)
I’m old enough (we’ll leave it at that) to remember when Bridget Jones’ Diary was first published, and quickly turned into a genre-busting phenomenon. It was, and still is one of my favorite books of all time. So I decided to take Bridget Jones’ Diary and marry it with today’s biggest book-buster, Fifty Shades of Grey – another book I also read and thoroughly enjoyed. So my friends, I give you:
If Bridget Jones had Sex with Christian Grey
by Dina Silver
129 lbs. (but post-Christmas), alcohol units 14 (but effectively covers 2 days as 4 hours of party was on New Year’s Day), cigarettes 22, calories 5424, times I bit my bottom lip 4 (2 were on purpose), times I rolled my eyes at Christian 1, helicopter rides 0 (thank God!)
Food consumed today (wasn’t hungry but he made me eat):
2 pkts of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese
1 bowl of oatmeal
Scrambled eggs with bacon
2 Bloody Mary’s - count as food as contains Worcester sauce, tomatoes & celery stick (note to self, biting celery stick works as aphrodisiac on Christian)
Filet with béarnaise and new cold potatoes
1/3 Ciabatta loaf with Brie
Noon. London: Christian’s flat. Ugh. The last thing on earth I feel physically, emotionally or mentally equipped to handle is one more flogging this morning. My inner goddess (who’s bloated from sodium rimmed margaritas) is about ready to join a convent. I do my best to pretend I’m asleep, but I can feel Christian’s excitement on my arse. Double Ugh.
“I know you’re awake, Miss Jones,” he whispers.
I open one eye the tiniest bit and catch him looking at me with a ghost of a smile. His scorching, intense gaze makes me flush scarlet. “Pass me that glass, darling,” I say, coughing through my dry throat.
Christian hands me the glass containing a mixture of warm Diet Coke and melted ice cubes from last night at 2 a.m.
He sits up, and stares at me, eyes ablaze. “I want you to wear the silver balls to Una and Geoffrey Alconbury’s New Year’s Day Turkey Curry buffet,” he says.
“Holy hell, have you gone mad?” I ask.
“I have, Miss Jones, mad for you.”
Exhausted, I let out an inflated yawn then look into those dark grey, irresistible eyes of his. I’m about to speak, but a small belch escapes my lips instead. “Fine,” I muster. Anything that will get me back to sleep so I can patch up this hangover. My inner goddess officially has a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the outside of her room.
“Thank you, Miss Jones,” he says.
7:00 p.m. Christian dresses for the party in his grey flannel pants that hang gloriously from his hips, and a white dress shirt, unbuttoned. He’s insisting I wear my plum dress (thank you brilliant Spanx!), silver balls, and heels. I manage the necessary jumping jacks required to heave the Spanx over my pale thighs, and am giddy that the balls were inserted prior to doing so (v.v.g).
8:30 p.m. “Bridge!” Mum squeals as we enter the Alconbury’s home. “I have a surprise for you, do you want a surprise?”
“No!” I bellow.
“Guess who’s here, Darling?” she asks me with a wink.
“I don’t care,” I say, eager to drag Christian to the buffet and then head home.
“Mark Darcy, you remember Mark Darcy, darling,” she assures me then addresses Christian. “Bridget used to run round his lawn with no clothes on.”
Mortified I look up at Christian, his lips are parted, his eyes ablaze from my mum’s comments - his desire for me is liquid and smoldering. I roll my eyes.
Christian grabs me and pulls me close before addressing my mum. “Thank you so much Mrs. Jones, but Bridget and I must be going.”
“What?” she squeals, “No, darling, you’ve only just arrived,” she says and raises a tray from the sideboard. “Have a gherkin, please darling.”
Excited, I grab one from the tray. Christian watches me chew it and whispers that he has his own gherkin waiting for me as well.
“Laters baby,” he says to my mother and pulls me back out through the front door.
The end :)