Last week, I picked up a copy of Bright Jones: Mad About the Boy. (OK, so the actual acquisition of said book was less a casual & nonchalant task, and more like a wild thing storming through the Chapters doors to hunt down its prey. Yeah... I was excited.)
I first read Bridget Jones' Diary when I was 14-15 years old, and retain fond memories of reading it in public, trying not to laugh out loud -- consequently looking like lunatic/deranged type who has a weird muffled laugh and shifty eyes because she keeps making sure others aren't watching.
Considering I'm also terrifically/terrifyingly nostalgic, you can understand why I was stoked to revisit my literary (some would just say imaginary) buddies. The story itself didn't disappoint. (There was some lol-ing on the metro, won't lie.) But more importantly, I was consumed by that once-in-a-while feeling of craving some spare time to read. Because the book was darn fun and delving into it made me feel plain ol' good. I love when a story (visual, textual, musical, what have you) packs that kind of one-two punch. It's a feeling worth taking a minute -- or a bloggy blurb -- to mull over.
Now go read the new BJ. It might make you cry if you're that kinda person. (Guilty.) Mostly, you might relate to Bridget's fastidious calorie-counting (that comes crashing down in a haze of Starbucks & shredded cheese), confusion re: social media decorum, and the plentitude of ups/downs/embarrassing shizz that the universe throws your way. I certainly did. Enjoy! :)