To be in a same-sex marriage is to talk (and talk and talk) about "Sex and the City."
"Did you really think the newest season was so bad?" asks my husband.
"Yes," I say, "it really was. I thought Che Diaz was insufferable. I thought the Comedy Concert was inexcusable--almost something you can't recover from. I could not--COULD NOT--believe that the writers had Charlotte lecturing a group of Black friends on the market value of various works by Black artists. And the friends all sit wide-eyed, and they say, CHARLOTTE, TELL US MORE! ....Who thought that this scene was a good idea?"
My husband plays Devil's Advocate. "There was something redeeming....wasn't there? There must have been something you liked?"
"Well, yes. When Carrie cruelly says to Choudhury, you haven't lived unless you've married. And then Choudhury breaks Carrie's picture frame. And Carrie says, NO, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. And the cheap picture frame becomes a portal--a way to deepen the friendship...."
My husband looks at me kindly and asks, "What the fuck are you talking about? Sometimes, I think we're watching different TV screens."
We're reading, now, that Samantha WILL BE BACK--and we're making plans to hate-watch with the neighbors.
I'm also reading that King wants the three core friends "intertwined"; he doesn't want to be telling three separate stories.
I have my Cosmo ready--and I invite you to stay tuned.
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