Bridget Jones's Diary 精彩片段：
MAY Mother-to-Be
Monday 1 May Alcohol units 0, cigarettes 0, calories 4200 (eating for two).
I seriously think I am pregnant. How could we have been so stupid? Daniel and I were so carried away with euphoria at being back together again that reality seemed to go out of the window — and once youve . . . oh look, I dont want to talk about it. This morning I definitely felt the beginnings of morning sickness, but that could be because I was so hungover after Daniel finally left yesterday that I ate the following things to try to make myself feel better: 2 packets Emmenthal cheese slices.
1 litre freshly squeezed orange juice.
1 cold jacket potato.
2 pieces unbaked lemon cheesecake (very light; also possibly eating for two).
1 Milky Way (125 calories only. Bodys enthusiastic response to cheesecake suggested baby needed sugar).
1 chocolate Viennoise dessert thing with cream on top (greedy baby incredibly demanding)
Steamed broccoli (attempt to nourish baby and stop it growing up spoilt). 4 cold Frankfurter sausages, (only available tin in cupboard too exhausted by pregnancy to go out to shop again).
Oh dear. Am starting to get carried away with idea of self as Calvin Klein-style mother figure, poss. wearing crop-top or throwing baby in the air, laughing fulfilledly in advert for designer gas cooker, feel-good movie or similar.
In the office today Perpetua was at her most obnoxious, spending 45 minutes on the phone to Desdemona, discussing whether yellow walls would look nice with pink-and-grey ruched blinds or whether she and Hugo should go for Blood Red with a floral freize. For one 15-minute interlude she said nothing whatsoever except, Absolutely . . . no, absolutely . . . absolutely, then concluded, But of course, in a sense, one could make exactly the same argument for the red.’
Instead of wanting to staple things to her head, I merely smiled in a beatific sort of way, thinking how soon all these things were to be immaterial to me, alongside caring for another tiny human being. Next I discovered a whole new world of Daniel fantasies: Daniel carrying the baby in a sling, Daniel rushing home from work, thrilled to find the two of us pink and glowing in the bath, and, in years to come, being incredibly impressive at parent/teacher evenings.
But then Daniel appeared. I have never seen him look worse, The only possible explanation was that on leaving me yesterday he had carried on drinking. He looked over at me, briefly, with the expression of an axe-murderer. Suddenly the fantasies were replaced by images from the film Barfly, where the couple spent the whole time blind drunk, screaming and throwing bottles at each other, or Harry Enfields The Slobs with Daniel yelling, Bridge. The baby Is bawlin. Its ead off.’
And me retorting, Daniel. I am avin ay fag.
Wednesday 3 May 9st 2* (Eek. Baby growing at monstrous unnatural rate), alcohol units 0, cigarettes 0, calories 3100 (but mainly potatoes, oh my God).* Must keep eye on weight again, now, for Babys sake.