“Sex and the City” The Movie? No Thanks
I seem to be the only woman I know who’s not going to strut my stilettos over to see the new “Sex and the City” movie the minute it opens next week. The buzz, the hype, and the noise over this movie is so over the top, it’s like an orgasmic orgy. Not that there shouldn’t be more movies like this about ordinary women and their lives, because I think there should be, but Hollywood, could you come up with something original, please?
I’m not interested in seeing these women again. With all due respect to Sarah Jessica Parker, I was never a huge fan of the TV show since the characters annoyed me more often than they entertained me, and the only thing I liked less than the women were the men. Mr. Big? Really! How is he someone’s great catch? Aidan was the only guy I could stomach and what happened to him? Carrie crushed him under her high heeled foot, like one of her many cigarettes.
What was also annoying when the show was on was every New York City woman announcing which “Sex and the City” character she was. “I’m just like Carrie,” or “I’m just like Miranda,” or “I’m just like Charlotte.” And a few even proudly admitted to being just like serial bed hopper Samantha. As if every woman in New York could be distilled down to one of those four characters.
Pul-leeeze!
I’ve got news for you, I’m proud to say I’m not like any of ‘em.
I don’t wear stilettos that cost as much as a mortgage payment on my house, I don’t bed hop with anything that has a “y” chromosome, and I don’t wear goofball outfits from overpriced boutiques downtown. That being said, go see the movie if you feel you must, but for me, “not tonight, honey, I have a headache.”