Carrie types, in socks and a big shirt. She wonders when wondering becomes your life. "Is that living, or just procrastinating?" Oh, don't talk to me about procrastinating. I have it down to an art form. I call it "procrastibating." I train for it. It involves hours of sitting on the couch (TV or stereo optional), gazing at piles of magazines, and AOL IM. Carrie continues to wonder if all those phone calls and lunches have made us "all girl talk and no girl action." Then she types, "is it time to stop questioning," and ends the sentence with a question mark, then goes back and changes it to a period. Wow. It sounds like she's done fucking around. Carrie, is that you?
Char, Harry, and Elizabeth Taylor sit on the couch, watching TV. Char is nibbling and feeding ET snicky-snacks. Bite for her, bite for ET. Bite for her, bite for ET. Harry looks down and says, "Think someone's getting a little chunky?" Char whines, "Harr-rry!" He meant the dog. And he was right. ET gained four pounds since we last saw her getting gang-banged at the park. Gasp!
Char runs to the pet store with ET in her arms. She asks the clerk where the diet dog food is. Heh. He asks to hold ET, and says she isn't fat. She's pregnant! He opens his mouth in a huge "O" of surprise. Char's jaw drops too, but in a less happy way. Hilarious. And -- yay, puppies! This show has dogs and kids, and now puppies. It's ridiculous. Doesn't anyone fuck on this show anymore?
Harry comes home and strikes a pose in his jeans in the bathroom door. Char is scrubbing the tub in pearls and a little black dress, and red rubber elbow-length gloves. Harry asks, "So the dog's knocked up, huh?" Char scrubs frantically and says yes, because everyone around her gets pregnant but her. Awww! Harry says, "It's not like she planned it!" Char screeches, "Exactly!" She goes on to say that after the unplanned gang-bang with "eight mutts," now they're going to have to raise her "whole trampy, unpedigreed family!" ET comes in, wagging sweetly. Char whips her eyes around to face the wall and says angrily, "Elizabeth, Mommy can't look at you right now." ET whines and backs out of the room. Char resumes scrubbing the tub, and Harry backs away too.
Carrie fingers Berlitz French language tapes as she whines to Sam about Miranda not liking Alek. "This is about Billy Joel." Sam, in a short dark wig that is just about the most unflattering wig she's donned so far -- and yes, I do remember the afro avec pick -- says it's really about Carrie. "We're not going to encourage you to cross an ocean! We're selfish bitches who like you in New York." Carrie continues to whine about how Mir never tried to get to know Alek, and how he's really sweet, and she "really like[s]" him. That's barely a reason to move in with a guy, but hey, this is Paris. Sam admits he's "a bit arrogant, but he has the goods to back it up." I cannot believe how selfless Sam is being. She has CANCER. Sam could play the cancer card in a second, but she's too optimistic and wants Carrie to be happy, so she's not saying, "Stay in New York to take care of me. I need you." But I almost wish she would, to confront Carrie with her own center-of-the-world-ness. Carrie continues: "You know what else is annoying?" Sam busies herself looking at language tapes and says with a straight face, "What's annoying." Ooh, I know. Ooh, ooh, pick me! Okay, um, Carrie is annoying? Ding ding ding ding ding! I win, I win! [Balloons fall from the sky, models come out and guide me to the prize package, a lifetime supply of Nathan's hot dogs and rabbit pearl vibrators for all my friends, and Bob Barker reminds us all to spay and neuter our pets.] Carrie goes on to say that Mir didn't ask Alek one question, and "she is all about the questions." Sam, quick like a bunny, says, "I have a question: Why do you care?" She never asked any of her friends what they think about her "boyfriend." Carrie says she never heard Sam use the word "boyfriend." Carrie says that Mir has a point. What about work? Maybe she can't leave New York. Sam says, "Believe me, your fabulousness will translate." Carrie smiles. Sam says she shouldn't let him "dictate the terms. Maybe half the time you're there, half the time I'm there!" Carrie squints and says now Sam is being too supportive.
Carrie stalks 57th Street, listening to her language tapes. "Voulez-vous a la discotheque?" She does not repeat the phrases, just purses her lips and sighs and exhales, and then begins the dreaded VO: More questions, but this time at least they're in French. L'oy.