Credits. Cha, cha-cha, cha-cha. Cha, cha-cha, cha-cha. Cha, cha-cha, cha-cha, cha-cha, whee, go xylophone! Splashy bus! Ohhh, the five-dollar tutu, she is ruined. Cha cha cha.
Carrie climbs up a long ladder, grimacing. She VOs that her "career had reached new heights -- literally," since an editor from New York magazine had assigned her a piece about the thrills of the flying trapeze. Pretty sweet piece for a freelancer. I wonder how far Carrie can drag the metaphor. From the ground, Stanford calls up to her, wondering if she really wouldn't rather be at Jeffrey, where they're having a sale. Carrie grabs the trapeze. Stanford calls, "You're the queen of the world!" She hollers back, "You're the queen of the world." Yuk yuk yuk. And no, that title is reserved for James Cameron. Or maybe Aaron "Don't Bogart That" Sorkin. The trapeze instructor tells Carrie to keep her head up, and not to look down. She takes her first swing, with a "wooo!" She's graceful but a little tense. Well, wouldn't you be? Then she swings her legs and screams. Stanford yells, "Swing out, sister!" Hee. Break ooout!
We're still trapezing. Carrie VOs that after just two hours doing that thing, she "was hooked." She screams, "Stanny, are you watching, I'm about to try a catch!" He says, "Maybe you should quit while you're a...live?" Hee! From the other swing, a buff trapeze dude instructs Carrie to "trust" him and "let go." Neither of which have ever been her strong suits. Is there an extreme or otherwise daring sport that allows one's neurotic tendencies to come into play? Carrie might excel in that. Is it curling? Nah, that's weird, but not extreeeme. If I could only think of some activity associated with a brightly-colored soda that would allow chickens and scaredy-cats to completely hang loose. Wait! Is it hitting a bucket of balls off Route 38 in Camden, NJ? That's kind of extreme. Anyway, Carrie just cannot trust and let go. She falls to the net below and bounces gently, alone, alone. Always alone. Never riding a bicycle with seven people, only riding alone.
Samantha is stuck, in a giraffe-y, Norma Kamali-esque printed dress. She wrangles with the zipper hilariously. Finally, Kim Cattrall gets to do some brilliant physical comedy outside of the realm of acrobatically shtupping some hunk. I missed it, but Gustave mentioned in the forums that Tracy Ullman was just on The Daily Show With Jon Stewart. She did a full-on body spasm to illustrate "being rode really hard" (tm Gustave) as La Cattrall's range. Well, she was complaining that Kim doesn't have much to do, and I agree; this season she's been a bit underused. But now? This dress bit is hilarious. It's illustrating the frustrations of living alone and having no one to help you in and out of zippers. Which I will be experiencing soon enough. And, in yet another personal digression, I want to thank all of you that wrote in with kinds words re: my break-up. I never thought so many people (well, anyone) would care enough to send thoughtful email to me, but you did. It really touched me. In a good way. Thanks. Keckler even offered to send me cookies! I'll tell you how good they are in next week's recap. And Sam, to get out of her stuck zipper, ends up calling Jerry. "Hey, Smith? Wanna come over and do me?" But what she needs is an "un-doing" -- get it? GET IT? Yeah.
Charlotte and Harry sit on a rock in Central Park, with concentrated smiles. It's so funny; Harry's cross-legged on a rock, in a suit. Char's in a white dress with a blue ribbon around her waist. She chides Harry to show less teeth, then to unfurrow his brow. Natural, natural smiles! She grabs his face and tells him that she reads the New York Times wedding section "religiously" and that she "know[s] what they're looking for." I would guess they look for clear copy, a nice photo, a bit of diversity, and timeliness. Or maybe it's all who you know. As she rants to Harry about her NYT wedding section obsession, his face warms and gradually lights into a beautiful smile. "Charlotte York, I cannot wait to marry you." Char screeches, "That's it! That's the look I want!" Harry says mock-complaining, "I was having a MOMENT," then impulsively kisses her. The photographer snaps a picture. Charlotte whines, "Nooo! No kissing pictures! They're tacky!"