Char and Harry cuddle together in bed. She's thanking him for the most romantic, luxurious, decadent, delicious seven-course dinner ever. His stomach gurgles loudly. Then again. He gets up and makes a dash for the bathroom, his bathroom trailing behind him like a plume, comically. Then Char's stomach starts gurgling. She runs to the other bathroom.
Now out of their silky lingerie and into more comfy t-shirts, the couple resumes their spots in bed. Harry thinks he may be "done" expelling their romantic dinner. Char makes a dash for the loo, squeaking, "I'm noooot!" Harry lies on the bed, spent, muttering, "It was that fucking fromage. That fucking fromage!" Hee. Then he gets up and says, "I'm coming in!"
The overhead shot of Harry and Charlotte lying together on the black-and-white tiled bathroom floor, holding hands? Beautiful.
Carrie and Aleksandr prance their way toward the Met. She looks fabu in the Oscar de la Renta pink gown. SJP has a great body for couture. She has a black velvet bolero jacket over it, not the nightmare Little Red Riding Hood thing from before. Thank god. A string quartet plays. Alek stops her in mid-prance, wanting to savor the moment. The night, the music, her in the dress...he extends a hand to her. "Dance with me?" Oh my GOD. I'm kvelling. She smiles, and VOs that "it was THE most romantic gesture." Then she swoons dramatically into his arms, and folds herself onto the marble outside the Met like a swan. The quartet stops, and the crowd of people (outside the shot -- I bet this was a closely guarded set. From a distance and without dialogue, it looks like he just proposed) start murmuring, "Is she all right?" He shakes her gently, and she comes to. No, she's not all right. She's "an American." She needs him to "take it down a notch." Oh. My. God. I just can't believe her. There are no words. She can never be happy! She freaked out when Aidan wanted to stay in and eat fried chicken, and now she's complaining when a sexy Russian wants to dance with her outside the Met. Carrie: She's never happy. Which is why I hate her.
So, they go to McDonald's. He asks if she can "handle" super-sizing their order. She can. And she's sorry about the opera. He says, "Another time, another dress." Oh lord, he's getting her another dress? What a trouper. She feeds him a fry, intoning, "They're French." They have that Lady and the Tramp moment when they eat a fry from different sides, then kiss in the middle. Now, she's ready to dance. He dances her, and they're framed by the golden arches. This is such a low moment. Such a low moment.