But only the BBC version. Only Colin.
Years ago my mother, father, sister and I leaned closer and closer to the screen. Complete fascination. For you see, it really is a most wonderful story.
Striking! They said. Amy married Mr. Darcy. And my father still calls him that sometimes.
It’s more than just the remarkable similarity of appearance.
It’s the mannerisms, the surly looks, the furrowed brow, the exasperating way he tells you what he thinks though it can’t possibly end well. Then there is the occasional shyness, the lack of conversation for conversation sake. He will will not compliment unless it is merited. It is the critical eye, the intensity, the lack of tolerance for silly embarrassing giddiness. And he hates, “cooing.”
But wait – there was more to Mr. Darcy, remember? He’ll move heaven and earth because it’s the right thing to do. He’ll go to great lengths to be a gentleman. He was the one who melted my heart.
And he’ll smile when I clap my hands because I’m excited (then imitate me), and he’ll paint our bedroom pink because he knows I love the color.
Mr. Darcy, this one’s for you.