I told you at the start of all this blog malarkey that I didn’t want to be Bridget Jones. This is still true.
Nobody WANTS to be Bridget Jones.
I also don’t WANT to be a “smidge” overweight, have incredibly poor eyesight and Richmond Sausages for fingers but whaddayagonnado?
When I look in the mirror, where once there stood a pimply teenager full of hopes and dreams, now there stares back a woman-child that looks a little deader behind the eyes and squishier round the waist. Still pimply though so I’ve not totally changed. *air high-5!*
According to recent papers the only single woman over the age of 27 who doesn’t look just a teensy bit like Bridget Jones is Renee Zellweger. Oh the irony!
There has been a bit of a furore this week over our Renee. Some people (I’m pretty sure 99% of them are men) are saying that she has ruined her face with copious amounts of plastic surgery.
I have two things to say about this, well maybe more but we’ll start with 2.
Firstly – I have incredibly poor eyesight as discussed but I don’t really think she looks that different. Sure the eyebrows could do with a wax and her hair is a bit darker but that’s about it. If she walked past me in the street I would still think “Oh there goes Renee Zellwegger” and not “Jeepers I didn’t know Eddie Murphy lived in Manchester!”
Secondly – Even if she has had surgery – who cares? If anything I am jealous. Unless Angelina Jolie ever stumbles on this blog and decides to adopt me, I doubt I will ever have the finances to smooth out the Klingon-esque forehead I am in the process of developing.
To everyone that says they would never have surgery. You are lying.
What you mean to say is you would never have bad surgery.
I live in Cheshire and I used to work in a bar in Hale – a town where you are twice as likely to get run down by a white Range Rover than anywhere else in the country. You get an extra ten points if the windows are tinted and it has a personalised registration. Minus 5 points if it’s Ryan Giggs.
Quick note – the Wikipedia page for Hale lists it as being in Greater Manchester. Uh -oh! If you listen hard enough you can hear hundreds of cheeks clenching in their designer chinos.
Anyway, it was a rare night in the bar if you didn’t get asked for ” a lard dye why wien” by a woman with telltale pinpricks round her mouth that not even her Louis Vuitton lipgloss could cover. To the untrained eye she looked normal but only you could see her wiping away the dribble when no one was looking. I used to wonder how these women were so thin. Turns out it’s not that they didn’t want to eat, the intense levels of botulism had simply rendered them incapable of chewing.
This is what people tell you when they say you should grow old gracefully. What they mean is you can get Botox and look younger as long as I don’t have to cut up your steak and follow you around with a bucket and a “wet floor” sign.
If it was 100% safe and you were guaranteed you would not come out looking like Bruce Jenner, everyone would be doing it. Hell if I could look like Cher when I’m 80, instead of the drooping bag of skin I am destined to turn into I’d be pretty happy. If I could look like Cher now, it would be a start!
Thirdly (see I told you there would be more) – are people really that stupid? The picture they are comparing her to was taken at the world premier of Bridget Jones’ diary. IN 2001! That is 13 years ago. Of course she is going to look different!
If you were to compare me now to 13 years ago I don’t think you’d recognise me. Well maybe you would. I haven’t morphed into Cat Deeley like I wanted to but I do have 2 eyebrows now instead of the one so it could be worse.
The world is a completely different place than it was in 2001. If you want proof…
At the risk of sounding like my mother (who I’ve promised will not be featured in any more blogs) things just aren’t like they used to be.
I know this when I see twelve year olds. Instead of the standard uniform of a United Colours of Benetton sweatshirt and rollerblades, they’re all high waisted shorts and statement eyebrows. They are busy listening to drum and bass and vlogging when I was having birthday parties in MacDonalds and working out which member of Boyzone I fancied.
It was Stephen Gately, in case you were wondering.
When it came to selecting the favourite boyband member, mine always ended up being the gay one. Still not sure how that happened.
Even scandals aren’t what they used to be.
In the 90s the idea of Posh and Scary having babies out of wedlock was enough to make the front pages. Now, the world would be relieved if Miley Cyrus announced she was up the duff as it would mean she would spend more time attached to a breast pump and less time twerking.
I bet she’ll find a way to twerk whilst feeding. She’s scrappy like that.
In case you haven’t guessed, I am not exactly thrilled by the speed at which my life is going.
In between the hangovers and heartaches, it is important to feel as though you have at least got control of something, no matter how insignificant it may seem. For example, I managed to take my make-up off before going to bed three times this week! I hope you are suitably impressed.
(Also I am lying it was twice – but still)
Renee has decided , quite sensibly, that she would like to keep her forehead from wrinkling up like an old man’s widgets. Yes, she might have had some surgical assistance but she earned the money to pay for the surgery so she can do what the hell she wants to – with the obvious exceptions of starting a nuclear war and stopping Kimye from taking selfies.
If you are reading this, Mr Daily Mail, for the good of mankind and society as a whole please focus on your own sagging scrotum and let Renee age in peace.
Plus I hear Kelly Brooke just ate a sandwich and no one was there to take a picture – you can’t pass up that exclusive!
Pass me the Botox.