Let me let you in on a little secret, gang: Sex and the City is a farce, and not just because there isn't a dating columnist / blogger (ahem) on earth who can afford $40,000 worth of Manolos. It's a farce because as soon as those girls got boyfriends, the days of getting all dolled up and going out to help their still-single counterparts search for men would have been out the damned window. And more alarmingly, so would their empathy for the plight of the single girl.
|I didn't even have to go to Paris to have my social life go to the dogs.|
This is a phrase I've never understood, and even less so now that it comes exclusively out of the mouths of people in committed, functional happy relationships. "You're too picky." As though I have no business expecting to be attracted to the person I'm sleeping with. "You're too picky." As if they all just magically conjured their partners and I should just do the same. "You're too picky." As though it's somehow my fault that I haven't met an eligible man who would give me the time of day since...well, sports fans, I don't even remember. And that's a sad thing, not something I should be back-handedly blamed for by being designated "too picky"!
Look, I work weird hours, travel a great deal and occasionally enjoy having a little time to myself. That's not being "too picky"; it's being what all of my friends used to be like before they all got boyfriends / girlfriends / husbands / wives. And that fact alone makes me want to stab "You're too picky" right in its smug, presumptuous face.
|Cher knows what's up.|