Forgive me if I'm paraphrasing but I'm sure you all know where it's from. If you've spent your days living under a rock or lack cheesey cable channels, let me remind you. It's from Bridget Jones' Diary or Bridget Jones's Diary. I can never remember the correct way to turn words that end in -s into possessives. Basically, it's about a women who's about 10 pounds overweight and searching for love in all the wrong places. She falls for her boss who of course fucks her along with every other vag that moves but there is this one man, Mr. Darcy played by Colin Firth, who likes her just as she is. He legitimately likes her yet she can't seem to stop her fanny from letting the douche of her boss back into her knickers. Excuse me for the British slang. I'm an anglophile and just can't help it.
Now you may ask yourself, "why is this relevant?" Well, let me tell you. Mr. Darcy is the epitome of the perfect man so much so that his first marriage ended because his wife cheated on him with his best friend and not the other way around. He's a barrister/lawyer and very well off. He's smashingly charming and exactly who you would want to bring home to parents. Yet, for some reason, women tend to ignore the Mr. Darcys until they get fucked and fucked over by the Mr. Bads.
I like many women will tell you that we're looking for Mr. Right but we keep finding Mr. Wrong but the truth is we just keep our pattern and missing all the Mr. Rights. I speak from experience in saying that my man count and relationship count are in no way equal and that's because I keep going for Mr. Wrongs simply because they expect less, give more, and then leave. Of course by "give more", I mean that they put out sooner and heck that's all I really care about at this age.
El numero uno problemo though is that I really do want my Mr. Darcy. I want him so much that I had a dream about him two nights ago. I'm not talking about some hunky guy I met in a bar that my brain called Mr. Darcy. I'm talking Colin effing Firth Mr. Darcy. Not only did I dream of him saying "I like you just as you are," I had dream sex with the man. I'm talking make your toes curl, pray you didn't say anything in your sleep that your roommate might have overheard, and think back on when having sex with a not so hot partner kind of dream. I totally get why I had the dream. It was my subconscious telling me that I'm ready to settle down and stop letting my cooch run loose. Too bad that's easier dreamed than done, Mr. Brain. The crazy thing is that last night I had another Mr. Darcy dream except in the starring role of Mr. Darcy was Mr. Wrap, the guy who makes my wraps here on campus. What kind of sick joke is my brain playing? Apparently, my brain thinks that the only standard I have for the perfect man is "must be able to make a delicious wrap" and to hell with have a good job, like watching sitcoms, and enjoys biking.
Have women's standards really gotten this low? Is the dating pool all about lowering standards?
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