Chick-a-dee's

Another "chick flick" night at my sisters house. Full of munchies (reasonably healthy, give or take a cream puff) and Colin Firth. *sigh*

Yes, it was a Bridget Jones Diary Marathon. But everytime Colin stepped on screen, I got lost. From across the room I would ask "What did they just say?" Complete oblivion would come over me while I was splashing around in his dreamy brown eyes.

Where in the heck is MY Darcy, huh? I have seen and been with enough Daniel Cleavers. A dime a dozen if you ask me. But a Darcy? Few and far between. So scarce, in fact, I believe it is completely fictional.

I had never seen these movies till tonight. I have been advised, informed and encouraged to watch and/or read the story(ies). "Oh Michelle...you would so connect with Bridget." Ummm yeah, I connect. More than you know. More than I care to admit. (I really don't need to elaborate on the embarrassing details, right?)

So, as I watched my feminine family members leave to go home to their significant others, I put my arm around my baby girl and went shopping. I could have done something worse....like drowned myself in some Ben and Jerry's and a bottle of wine. Hummm....Now that I mention it...