I once aspired to be Bridget Jones, that is until my life fell into a series of unenviable episodic humiliations. So, this is the last 21 minutes of my life, as it actually happened, written in the style of Bridget Jones. I’m not kidding:
3:59: Remember Big Meeting Scheduled for 5:30.
4:00: Look in bathroom mirror.
4:01: Gasp. Shock. Horror.
4:03: Decide wetting hair is best course of action for unruliness.
4:04: See error of ways.
4:05: Attempt to dry hair with paper towels from dispenser.
4:08: Spot vinaigrette stain left on white blouse from errant lettuce leaf.
4:09: Use paper towels, already dampened from hair, on blouse.
4:10: Create large brown stain on boob, looks similar to dog poo.
4:11: Hair still dripping on vinaigrette/poo stain. Apply make-up.
4:12: Give up on mascara application, as wax still remains on eyelid from self-eyebrow waxing fiasco previous evening.
4:13: Wet hair and dirty clothes call for distracting red lipstick.
4:14: In panic, break off lipstick. Drops on vinaigrette/poo stain. Consider calling Daniel Cleaver equivalent so as to feel even worse about self.
4:15: Re-think call. Decide to text.
4:16: Stare at phone waiting for response. Hair still dripping, now onto phone.
4:17: Consider working on presentation for meeting.
4:18: Return to bathroom. Focus on stain and hair. Ponytail! Genius!
4:19: Go outside, find newspaper, remove rubber band, affix to hair. Put on jacket in stifling heat to hide stain(s).