Maybe I would have enjoyed this book more if I had been over the age of 9, and living in Britain, in 1996 when it was published. As it was, I spent a good deal of the time reading this book trying to decipher the Shallow, Bitchy, British slang, from 1996. American slang in the 90s was weird enough, thanks. I do have a new favorite word, Squiffy - means drunk, but not stupidly so. So my new stages of drunk are: Tipsy, Squiffy, Blotto, Shitfaced, and then Blackout. I tell you, I am very affected by what I read.
My favorite character, by far, who has almost zero lines is Bridget's Granny, who at one point holds up a tube of Smarties and says, "Oh look, a penis." That was the only point in the book that I actually laughed out loud.
For the most part I just wanted to smack Bridget and tell her to get over herself. I felt a little bit of pity for her, but only in a rudimentary "this is what I'm supposed to feel," way. She was just ... awkwardly not funny, but sad. Anyone that gets that embittered I find more annoying than funny. I want to smack her and give her a hug all at the same time.
It was certainly a quick, mindless read, and that can be attractive sometimes, but I was simply bored by Bridget's character (or lack thereof). Also, One Hundred and Thirty Pounds Does Not Make One Fat! Gods, am I sick of reading about how insecure women are.
