Jo Goes To Paris

Chapitre Deux

She did know very well what would come next.

It was what Jo and Amber called the Dark 5D: Depression, Denial, Doubting, Disorder and Despair. Not always in this order, but at one point, a woman after a rough break up would go through all of them at once.

And that was Johanna’s current situation: she was on her bed with a big carton of vanilla and cookies Häagen-Dazs on her lap, a box with half of a mozzarella pizza on the side and a big bottle of Coca-Cola on the bedside table. Her pink GAP hoodie was full of stains and suspicious spots, proof she hadn’t washed it since better days. Put up in a bun, her hair looked shaggy and greasy. Even her room was a complete mess; the carpet was not visible under the clothes, papers and trash.

“Don’t look at me like that, Louise” she mumbled at her cat, who was looking at her rather critically from the chair. “I’ve fed you. Besides, Bridget is about to find Mr. Darcy, look.”

In the big screen TV, she was watching the end of “Bridget Jones’s Diary” after he had cried over “PS.: I Love You”.

“Oh, Bridget… You just got the man of your life. Why can’t I be like you?” Johanna sighed.

Mark Darcy was, in Johanna’s opinion, the perfect man. Hugh Grant could be handsome and charming, but he was playing a jerk, which lowered his chances with Johanna in her imaginary list of famous people she would date. But no matter how sweet Colin Firth was as Mark Darcy, no one would ever beat the number one of her list: Gaspard Ulliel, the French god that would give Johanna chills.

“Now, that is a man…” she thought out loud.

The movie had finally ended. Lazily, she stretched, she put she ice cream on the bedside table. She wondered how good it would taste mixed with Coca-Cola, something she vowed to try later. She walked to her DVD collection and found her favourite movie.

“Oh, Paris, Je T’aime…” She sighed, removing Bridget Jones’ DVD and replacing it with the new one.

Johanna looked at her bed, thoughtfully; she realised that the wine bottle was empty, and that could not be. If she was to watch “Paris, Je T’aime”, she would need wine.

“Great. Louise, wait for me, I will go get some wine outside.”

Stepping carelessly on the mess, she reached the kitchen, which was not much better than the room, with a pile of dishes to be washed, empty boxes of cookies and cereals on the table and even pieces of bread on the floor.

“Maybe I should clean…” She thought. “If somebody comes to visit me... Oh, who am I kidding, nobody is coming to visit me.”

Grabbing a bottle of red wine and turning on the small radio by the side of her freezer, Johanna decided to make some pancakes.

“Oh, my!”

On the radio, one of her favourite songs started to play; she had dedicated that song to Greg on their last anniversary.

“My love, there’s only you in my heart, the only thing that’s right…”

“My first love, you’re every breath that I take, you’re every step I make…” She grabbed a big spoon, making it an improvised microphone, and becoming Diana Ross in her mind.

“And I... I want to share… All my LI-IFE with YOOOUUU!”

“No one else will do…”

“I know, Lionel, but I think you’re too old, for me…” She replied, grabbing the eggs.

No matter how much Joanna tried, that song was Greg all over.