Disclaimer: Helen Fielding? Never heard of her. This is original fan fiction! Don't you see the category? Origin – oh. Never mind.

Annoyed with senior formals? Me, too. Enjoy!



Depressed. Chocolate bars 4 (if candy bars don't count – and they don't), tabloids 10 (had to catch up), shags since birth 0 (v. bad), girls in school: too many.

Dorm, 5 p.m. Have decided that the world is full of sods and bastards.

5:15 p.m. Hate the world.

5:25 p.m. Hate the world and the people in it. Stupid policies.

6 p.m. Okay, so this is how it is: Mum and Dad for some unknown, absolutely crazed reason (oh, wait, no. To preserve my "flower"... ha, as if that worked! Oh, bloody f-ck, wait. It did. Need ice-cream.) sent me to this godforsaken all-girls' school. The school has decided that, even though there are no boys, there is to be a senior formal. I am seventeen, single, rejected from Oxford, stuck going to some school I don't even like, and now I have to put up with Smug Dating sluts making out on a dance floor! And due to some bloody eejit who thinks it's funny to torment girls like me, if I go alone, I have to pay double.

7:15 p.m. Called Mum and Dad. Asked them to complain.

Mum trilled, "Don't worry, darling, you'll find a man."

"Mum, I'm in an all-girls' school."

"What about your cousin, Freddy?"

"No, Mum."

Will not care. Will detach.

7:25 p.m. I don't care.


9 p.m. The slut next door is shagging her boyfriend again. Bloody inconsiderate.

9: 30 p.m. Saw her boyfriend run past my door with Mrs. Prune screeching and running after him. Slutty Rebecca got detention. Ha.

9: 31 p.m. But she's got an escort.



V. pathetic. Chocolate bars 14, tabloids 0 (not by choice. Backup in mail.), possible male escorts 1 (pervy old geezer), possibility of going to senior ball 0.

Dorm, 11:45 a.m. Jude, Shazzer, and I looked through the telephone book and found advertisements only for female escorts. Why do people think only guys need escorts?

12 p.m. Ewwww. Shaz thought she saw a male escort number, but it's for "She-Males."

12:01 p.m. Then, again, she-males are essentially males, aren't they?

12:10 p.m. Forget what I said, we found a tiny ad for a male escort service.

1:00 p.m. Jude made the call because Shaz and I were laughing too hard.

Jude started with an attempt at a sexy kitten voice, "Hi, I need three male escorts to a ball.

No, we'd prefer straight. Dressed as men. Right, not transvestites. Your ad promises our satisfaction or ..."

A funny look crossed her face. "It says men."

Even Shaz and I heard the man laughing. Sounded like some pimp. He barked, "Just kidding, just kidding, kitten."

Jude hung up.

Jude says he said: "No, only one man. You're speaking to him."



V. pissed. Chocolate bars 7, tabloids 0 (where the bloody hell are they?), ugly dress 1, mother who insists on ruining life 1 too many.

Dorm, 4 p.m. Three days to senior ball because Mum sent the office a bloody check and permission slip without my consent. Jude's paid to go, too, and promises to keep me company. Have no guilt that she paid – money to burn, that one. Parents are in business.

Shaz refuses to go. "I'm not paying for two people just because I couldn't find some bloody f-ck to go with. This policy's forcing happy, single girls to ruin their lives by hooking up with male chauvinists that..." Blah blah blah. Need date.

Mum sent me a hideous dress like a clown costume. Jude and I are trying to fix it.

6:30 p.m. Ah, much better. We cut off the sleeves and trimmed the collar a wee bit (i.e., the dress is now low cut). Took off the ribbons and ruffles. Jude even sewed on new glittery straps. Shaz kept barking, "You two are trying to become a couple of suzy-homemakers. Stoppit." Meanwhile, who was reading "Ten Ways to Find and Please Your Mate"?



V. annoyed. Chocolate bars 0 (ran out), tabloids 0 (turns out subscription expired), mothers set on ruining life 1 (still), homicidal thoughts involving Freddy ∞.

Back in dorm yet again, 5 p.m. Gaaaah! Freaky Freddy sent me a letter. Mum told him I need a date! Grrr ... I will never EVER go with him. Ever!

Sixteenth birthday: Freddy's my escort, because Mum insisted on some fancy dinner ball. Had no boyfriend or male contact at that point because of bloody all-girls' school. Took lessons for ballroom dancing. Felt pretty and confident. Just had makeup done for the first time and spent loads of money on dress. Freaky Freddy stepped on it and the ribbon in the back ripped off. Was pissed. He then tripped while dancing. Made me fall on my back onto massive birthday cake with him on top of me. Could see in gross detail the hairs on his greasy pimples. My pretty hair became a mane of whipped cream. Looked like some weird sort of Catherine Linton. Except I knew for sure I wasn't pregnant. Durrr ...



Disappointed in being single. Chocolate bars 0 (still out), tabloids 0 (still expired), sadistic mother 1, dashed fantasies of Keanu Reeves-Bridget Jones romance many many many.

Dorm (displacement is always 0), 6 p.m. Why is Mum trying to kill me? Got a call.

Hoped it was a miracle and Keanu Reeves was on the phone vowing to love me forever and be my dance partner.

"Hello, darling! Thrilling news!" My mother.

"What?" Keanu Reeves called her to profess his love for me?

"Say pardon, dear." Grr. "Elaine just told me Mark is going to go to your prom. You remember Mark, don't you? Malcolm and Elaine's son, quite a gentleman, goes to Cambridge..."

Ah. Stupid smarty boy. Hate bloody French professor whose B- got me rejected from the cursed school.

I smiled patiently. "Yes, Mum. And what does that have to do with me?"

"You remember him, don't you?"

"Of course!" Actually, I didn't. Just wanted to get off the bloody phone. "Big, tall kid... with the freckles."

"No, not exactly... tall, yes. And quite handsome! You used to play naked in the Darcy's yard and run around him, planting kisses on his cheeks when you could..."

"What? He's coming here?" Cheeks burned with shame. Still couldn't remember who she was bloody talking about.

"Say pardon, dear. Yes, he's going to the dance, and you could say hello and introduce yourself, and—"

"Mum, he's going with another girl."

"No matter, dear, just say hello! You two are old friends."

"Mum, I have to go to class. Bye."

Mark who?

6:30 p.m. Oh, bloody f-ck. Now I know who she's talking about. Cannot face him.

6:35 p.m. What do I do now?

6:36 p.m. Will not go to prom.

6:37 p.m. But they have an attendance sheet. They have a bloody attendance sheet. Mum will have my head if I don't go!

6: 40 p.m. Think will stay with Shaz in dorms. Jude can go. She found a date called Richard. Some guy she met in the park over the summer and kept in touch with. Shaz and I call him Vile Richard. Sounds gross.



Cheerful. Rebellious. Chocolate bars 0 (feel good enough about myself), tabloids 0 (don't care about reputed insanities of celebrities – unless that means Keanu Reeves will fall madly in love with me), chances of going to dance 0 (ha!), happy drink 1 bottle.

5:30 p.m. Ha! Prom night and I'm not going. Shazzer found some drinks in the faculty room. Always thought the professors were a bit shady. Will mix with some soda... heehee, happy times...

6:30 p.m. Ooh! Stuff is blurry goo. Mus hab mooooore. Oof. Think someting broke...

7:30 p.m. Wooo weee! Purty stars outsigh... hahaha, Shaz is drunk off rocker... heehee, clown dress looks funny... mus fix... scissors here... wee hee...



Never felt so bad in my life. Chocolate bars 0 (can't eat, will vomit), tabloids 0 (feel too blinded by light to read anyway), telltale empty bottle 1, pair of scissors in hand 1, sense of dread growing.

12:30 p.m. Woke up with terrible headache.

12:31 p.m. Oh f-ck, what did I do.

12:40 p.m. I'm wearing my dress. I can see up to China from the large chunk of missing skirt. Hmm ... wish fanny was fuller (wonder if I'll regret this wish when I'm old with cellulite). Gaaah!!! Stood up, and one strap is gone. Dress hangs weirdly from one shoulder. Look like some deranged whore. Hair an absolute terror. Have lipstick on like a clown. I think I drew some sort of weird cat whiskers on my face with eyeliner. Dammit, my eyeliner's broken. Must've sat on it. Shaz snoring.

1 p.m. Gaaah! Shazzer woke up, wearing – I don't know where she got it, but looks awful. She has a jacket meant for a big fat man over her pajama top. Blue clashes terribly with the orange top. There's a tie around her neck like a scarf. She's got horrible sunshine-yellow flares on. Whyyyy???

1: 15 p.m. Jude walked in. She looked really nervous. Shaz and I pounced on her.

"What happened?!"

Jude's mouth tightened, as if she were trying not to laugh. But she had this sorry look on her face.

"You two ... were drunk last night ... and came to the prom."


"I tried to stop you two, but Bridget was waving her sewing scissors all over the place and everyone was afraid to come too close."

Grr. Why me.

"Is that all we did?" Shaz asked anxiously.

"No," Jude said in a small voice. She couldn't look us straight in the eye.


Jude drew in a shaky breath. "Bridget ... do you know Mark Darcy?"

"Who?" Shaz asked irritably. She was obviously thinking, What the hell does he have to do with anything?

"You know, Shaz, Malcolm and Elaine's son, student at Cambridge—" Oh bloody shite. I sound like my mother.

Anyway, from the way Jude tells it, this is how the story goes:

I saw Mark Darcy and swaggered over in the freaky dress. Was all up in his face and purred, "Remember me? Mmm ... you're sexier than I remember."

Then I sat on his lap, with him looking really embarrassed.

Then Shaz started screaming, "See me? I'm her bloody escort! Haha! A she-male! You can't charge us double for that! Ha!"

I jumped off Mark Darcy and scuttled over to Shaz, and we started to do a weird, drunken waltz. After wreaking havoc and scattering terrified couples in our wake for an hour, we bowed and said, "It's been great, but we need to go join the pixies and fly to the stars! Wheee!"

Shaz and I ran out, tripping, laughing hysterically, and flapping our arms. Then I ran back in and gave Mark a great big kiss, much to the dismay of his date – some girl who probably hates my guts now. Shaz ran back in, grabbed my wrist, and slapped Mark.

She screamed, "You blurry arse, stay the f-ck away from my girlfriend!"

1:45 p.m. Great. Now the whole school thinks Shaz and I are some deranged lesbian couple. In an all-girls' school. That's bad.

2 p.m. F-ck, f-ck, f-cketty f-ck. Received a notice to see the principal. Parents will be called. At least graduation is tonight and I won't have to see anyone ever again.

2:01 p.m. Damn senior formals!


A/N I must give credit to my friends. I have based many of Bridget's complaints about her formal on conversations I've had with friends. Also, I'd be very VERY happy if someone would be so kind as to review. Happy? I'll bow down to you! Flames welcome!

I really did notice in the telephone book that there are she-male escort services. However, I made up the male escort service because, in reality, there aren't any (not where I live, anyway).

I'm writing this the day after my midterms finished. Ha! After this point, colleges won't see my grades. Must simply pass my courses. Hence, I am writing this instead of doing something productive. I like this better!