There's something that still bothers me: why the baby orang-utan?

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The Independent Online

So, Sex and the City, farewell, toodle-pip, au revoir, air-kiss, air-kiss, mwah-mwah! Not before time, some might say but not me. So many bothersome questions still to be answered, so many things I'd like to put directly to the girls, including:

So, Sex and the City, farewell, toodle-pip, au revoir, air-kiss, air-kiss, mwah-mwah! Not before time, some might say but not me. So many bothersome questions still to be answered, so many things I'd like to put directly to the girls, including:

¿ Miranda, when are you going to wise up to the fact that things are not right with your kid, Brady. Sorry, Miranda. I suspect you're in denial (what mother wouldn't be?) but someone has to say something, so I will. Miranda, that child is a very scary orange. That child could not be more orange if you put him on an IV drip of Sunny Delight and gave him Tango baths. In fact, he may not be human at all. Personally, I'm thinking orang-utan. But don't panic. Ultimately, you may be able to release him into the wild or, failing that, there is always Longleat here, in the UK, where he can live a very decent life pulling the windscreen wipers off cars. For further support, try: www.HelpMyBabyIsSoOrangeHeMustBeAnOrangUtan.com

¿ Girls, as you are all such busy, professional women, it's such a pity you only ever have time to meet for breakfast, brunch, detoxifying body-wraps, lunch, manicures, an afternoon snack, six trips round Bloomingdales, massages, cocktails, pedicures, dinner and nightcaps ... and then breakfast again, after being shagged silly all night? Obviously, you are all workaholics. Tell me, have you ever thought about seeking treatment? Do something for yourselves every now and again!

¿ Carrie, what were you wearing on your first night in Paris? Where were you expecting to go? An exploding blue meringue convention? And when that Petrovsky - Russian artist, my arse; total fake; he'll be passing himself off as a famed Latvian ballet dancer next - came back late to find you napping on the bed, did he say: "What the fuck are you wearing, you horsy-faced American strumpet?" No, he did not. He said something boring and forgettable because that's what he is: boring and forgettable. He also looks like an emaciated Anthony Hopkins. What were you thinking of?

¿ Miranda, has it ever occurred to you that Steve put the "gorm" in "gormless"? Hate to land this on you, after the monkey business, but no one ever said life would be fair.

¿ Charlotte, why couldn't I ever care more about you? That said, though, you have lovely hair and swing it very nicely and I think you're the prettiest and I'm glad you finally got a baby. A Chinese baby is a good thing to have, much better than an orang-utan, and it will have black shiny hair, just like yours. You'll look related!

¿ Carrie, are you pretty? I don't know. I can't decide. Sometimes I think you are but then the camera comes at you from another angle and I think you look quite long-faced and, yes, horsy. But, then, what do I know? I've been likened to Olive from On the Buses (v funny seminal British comedy. Without On the Buses there could never have been Sex and the City etc etc.)

¿ Girls, when you walk the streets of New York at 2am in skirts that are not so much skirts, more knickers with just one hole in, being as brief as they are, do you ever think: "I might just as well have 'rape me, murder me and take my purse while you're about it' tattooed on my forehead?" Thankfully, though, you never came to any harm. How do you explain this?

¿ Samantha, I want you to know you're my favourite. Thanks to you, everyone now knows what the clitoris is and where it is located. This includes my young son, who begs to stay up late every Friday night to watch the show. It was awkward at first, as I'd previously told him it was a kind of hat. It's good it's been cleared up, though, because I didn't want him to grow up thinking you can make a woman happy by fiddling with her headwear.

¿ Carrie, when you're finished with your job, can I have it? It's the best job in journalism. One line a week, tapped out while looking fetching in couture lingerie. I could do that, in an Olive-ish kind of way. And in pants from Marks.

¿ Lastly, the one question that was most conclusively answered: What do women want, as Freud so famously put it. Now, thanks to Sex and the City, we know. Shoes.

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