When asked to explain why people love Sex And The City, there are the obvious responses – the humour, the friendship, the outrageous sex stories… if you haven’t seen it and you like to keep anything to do with the bedroom in the bedroom, don’t watch this show. If you like a bit of humour with your date, you need look no further for your evening companion.
What keeps me interested in SATC is the hope the show gives me (futile though it may be). After watching an episode or two in the evenings I pray for the same outcome advertised in Carrie Bradshaw’s New York to happen in my own life. I would wait forever to find the same thing they all managed to find by the end of series 6 – the secret, the key to happiness. I am of course talking about the fact that these lovely ladies can eat out that many times a week and still maintain amazing figures.
In every single episode, they eat out. There’s cupcakes, pretzels, and more drinks than a Scottish distillery. How do they stay so slim? Every attempt Carrie Bradshaw has in the workout world results in her ridiculing it. Yes, she’s a fictional character, and yes the hope restored in me because they maintain their wonderful figures is stupid, because in real life, they probably live in the gym and renounce all things carby or calorific, but it’s still false advertising, or something to that effect which means weight gain would not be my fault.
Carrie got the lucky straw, she can write, she can dine, she can buy shoes which cost more than my entire wardrobe put together (including the actual wardrobe) and she’s never had to go up a dress size.
My idea of a lunch out is a sophisticated little side street restaurant with a girlfriend and a nice catch-up conversation over our salmon and country vegetables. In reality, it’s more like a Starbucks, or at the very most, a low fat subway, but then it’s an 8k cycle ride and a 3k run/ brisk walk just to burn off the bread. Even salads are bad in the non-fictional restaurants because they come covered in dressings. It puts a bit of a dampener on the ‘lunching ladies’ montage when you know that you can’t really be a ‘lunching lady’ without expanding the waistband and the overdraft for that matter. It’s a shame, I could have been the UK’s answer to Carrie Bradshaw but I just don’t have the genes to be with the ladies who lunch.