Cut to Char slaving over a hot stove. Carrie VOs, "Martha Jewart." Mir and Carrie are helping her make the challah. Carrie says Char doesn't have to "hollah!" Cripes. Char asks Mir to check the recipe, and as Mir turns the page she sees "Mr. and Mrs. Harry Goldenblatt." "Mrs. Charlotte York Goldenblatt." What the fuck is this, high school? I want to see the page where Char practiced her autograph. Did she write H.O.L.L.A.N.D somewhere, for "Hoping Our Love Lasts And Never Dies"? If she doesn't do that, it means they're gonna break up. Whoops! But I had to say it. Carrie giggles. Mir asks if Char got married when she was at work, and points out that she "forgot 'Yorkenblatt.'" Hee. Char says she's "been thinking," and what do the girls "think about November?" That it's the eleventh month? That it sometimes gets cold, sometimes is temperate? That it's Thanksgiving? No, Char meant for the wedding. Mir asks if Harry has even proposed yet. Nope. Is Char "counting her matzo balls before they rise?" Carrie advises her to zip it. Char insists that it's "meant to be" and they are totally gonna get married. Swear! It's so totally gonna happen! Um.
Sam sneaks into a restaurant wearing sunglasses, a black satin trench, and a beret. The piano is appropriately suspenseful. She slinks over to a table where Jerry is already seated, and asks about the microfilm. Jerry says he has an idea, a much sexier idea. Something new to relieve the boredom from all the half-dressed professional and criminal scenarios they've been enacting. Sam gasps and says, "Hotter than Secret Service sluts?" Jerry says, "I'm me, you're you. Go." Sam doesn't like this too much. She says right out loud and to his face that she doesn't want to know all about him. He says that's harsh. She says she is harsh, and also self-sufficient, nasty, smart, and always right, in the office and in the bedroom. Jerry says he knew that. But can he tell her just one thing about himself? Sam doesn't really want to hear it. He just wants to tell her his last name. It's Jared. Sam takes a pause. "Your parents named you Jerry Jared? No wonder you drank." Jerry say, and I often use his exact inflection, "Right." Carrie VOs that "that night, Samantha and Jerry got off on playing themselves." Aww.
And, at yet another "hip" "downtown" "restaurant," Berger wends his way toward Carrie, who's in a cute muted-blue satin slipdress and a cheetah-print coat over her arm, and some ridiculous old-lady hat avec veil. Oh, that hat. It's so fugly. So theatrical and ridiculous. It's so thrift-store. Right in front of their faces is a woman wearing...a scrunchie. They both see it at the same time. Carrie looks away, not wanting to cop to it. Berger relishes the moment, then says quietly to Carrie that he thinks he sees, "in Manhattan proper, standing on line at a hip downtown restaurant," a woman wearing a scrunchie. He's so smug. Carrie smiles and says through her pulled-tight lips that the woman isn't from New York. Berger immediately taps the woman on the shoulder and asks her what part of New York she lives in. The woman, fifty-ish, in a red ersatz Chanel (or should I say Channel) twinset and baby pearl necklace, plotzes. Why, honey chile, she's not from Nyoo Yor-uhk! She's from Macon, Georgia! And she's so flattered to be mistakenly identified as a New York resident that she claims Berger "made her whole night." Oh, boy. Now, while I am a total Yankee, I love the south. People have amazing manners there, and each region has a different style. Like, Nashville? Is like L.A. Memphis is probably my favorite city in the south, just because of all the great music that comes from there (that, and the food). To say this is an unflattering portrait of a Southern woman is an understatement. The one thing I really don't buy is that the woman would be flattered to be identified as a New Yorker. New Yorkers are pushy and rude! ["I believe you meant to say 'assertive.'" -- Sars] This woman is genteel as hell. But whatever -- Carrie was right, and Berger continues to resent her for it.