But New York newspapers – like New York men – have short memories. In the two years since Bridget's reign ended, several other adventuresses have tried their hand at her former job. None lasted more than a few months, which says less about them and more about Bridget's persistent charm – both on the page and off.

Indeed, meeting Bridget for the first time, I found her personality so likable and her British accent so soothing, I wanted her to be my new best friend. I had it all planned – we could have sleepovers at my apartment where I would express outrage at how New York men had treated her, while simultaneously researching possible husbands on eHarmony. Occasionally I'd yell random English slang: "Blimey! Snogging your mate's man is dodgy, but brilliant! You must be knackered!" and demand we open another bottle of Shiraz while she translated what I just said for my roommates.

Still, when a friend of mine recommended Bridget's recently released memoir, "Tabloid Love: Looking for Mr. Right in all the wrong places," I smelled BS. Looking for Mr. Right? Typical chick-lit banality – and the cover quote from an overexposed Bushnell, touting it as "A real-life Bridget Jones meets Sex and the City," didn't help.

372 pages later, I think Bushnell understated it.

Bridget Harrison really IS Bridget Jones, thrown into Carrie Bradshaw's life. With the plucky British attitude (Jones), the New York newspaper column (Bradshaw) and the amusingly disastrous luck with men (both), it's downright eerie.

While "Tabloid Love" covers her entire tenure as a recently transplanted London reporter, the juiciest bits concern the exasperating dating life that shaped her popular column. "That was when most readers responded to me," she says. "They seemed to really enjoy it."

Sure! New Yorkers love a little Schadenfreude on Sundays (something to offset the NYT Wedding Pages).

Or maybe they identified with her. After all, Bridget is the anti-Bergdorf Blonde, a bit disheveled, completely unpretentious and totally relatable. She's the girl who was once greeted by a date with "Are you wearing THAT?" at which point he informed her that she could be "one hot chick" if she "made more of an effort."

In a town where each woman seems more perfectly put-together than the next, you've gotta love a gal who writes something like that.

Of course, nothing interests voyeuristic New Yorkers like someone else's love life (except possibly someone else's bank statements). Still, it's hard to maintain that interest without offering a little bit more – in Bridget's case, an explanation for the perverse difficulty of finding love in New York.

Although some of it might seem obvious to longtime denizens, she makes a solid analysis: With 500,000 more unattached ladies, "even if a guy's on a date with a smart, beautiful woman, he knows there are plenty more where she came from," she writes. Being smart and beautiful, those women "feel they deserve to be treated a little bit special… To guys this can translate into 'demanding.'" The result? A "cutthroat dating environment" leads to singles who are "jaded and defensive – making it even harder to have a relationship."

Her final point is the most memorable. Ultimately, your crappy love life is due to compact geography, cheap taxis and efficient public transportation.

Huh?

"Back in London, the time [and expense] it takes to get anywhere means you have to make a plan and stick with it," Bridget explains. "In New York, you can jump from party to party every night without even breaking into a sweat. So if you're having a drink with someone and it's not fun, then it's easy to move to something better."

In other words, it's an OBO town. With limitless options only minutes away, "why commit to anything, least of all a relationship?"

"Bloody hell," she concludes cheekily, "I'm an anthropological genius."

Looks like Malcolm Gladwell has some competition. Wait – is he single?