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.
We open with some Vivaldi -- Rites of Spring -- playing beautifully. It's a beautiful day in New York City. We pan from a giant diamond down to Charlotte, loaded down in shopping bags (Manolo Blahnik, drool drool), as she cheerily hails a cab. Once one arrives, a woman steps up and barely peevishly says, "Miss?" Char turns, beams, and says, "I'm sorry. Did you want this cab?" And then gives it to her. Carrie VOs that New York is a perfect place to be engaged.
And to be enraged -- Carrie stomps toward the girls' favorite restaurant, in a horrible white smock-y top thing. Why? Why the voluminous smocks? Fitted, fitted, fitted! Fitted always looks better! Big looks sloppy. Anyway, Carrie stomps and stomps. Then a businessman rudely bumps shoulders with her. Here we go. I love New York City. One reason why? People know how to walk down the streets there and not bump into one another. Yes, it's crowded and chaotic and at times mayhem -- almost anarchy, even. But in New York, I have never had a screaming match with some prick because they were too fucking lazy to move slightly out of my way. I have in Philly! There are times I curse at people walking three abreast like it's their own personal sidewalk. But in New York, if you bump into someone on the sidewalk, you either are the biggest asshole ever or from out of town. Now, I don't give people the finger anymore. It's not smart. But when I'm crossing in the crosswalk on the green and you turn in front of me with your car? You will hear me yell at you. Pedestrians have the right of way, fuckface behind the wheel. And Suit-Man? It's not that hard to move a few inches out of the way when a person is coming at you. So, Carrie gets bumped by some businessman a-hole, and screams at him. "Oh, you're SO busy!" What I hate the most is when a car almost runs me down and I scream at them, and THEN they stop. Like, you wouldn't stop when you see me, but if I correct you? Then you have all the time in the world to put on the brakes and try and dish it back out. That's when I start looking for something to throw, or a cop. Anyway. Lunch with the girls.
Carrie and Charlotte both have news to share with their friends. Char goes first: A honking diamond ring Harry gave her last week. It's designed after the ring Richard Burton gave Elizabeth Taylor. I think I'm jealous. I have a white slip that's like the one she wore in Butterfield 8, but the resale value on it is pathetic. Everyone squeals and oohs. Samantha says this ring is even nicer then her first, and Char winces a bit. Dude, stop wincing. You scored two honking rings. Unless that means I'll never get one, since she's gotten two! Or maybe it's that I've only dated musicians or writers and they have no money. Yeah, that's it.
Then Carrie gives her news: Berger broke up with her via Post-It (tm 3M). Carrie even brought it with her for the girls to read ("I'm sorry, I can't, please don't hate me"). Sam says the "motherfucker" is "concise." Word to both. Carrie recalls the days when it was gauche to break up over the phone. Miranda remembers being dumped by a doorman: "Sorry, [he] isn't coming down. Ever." Sam pines for a doorman. So sensitive. Carrie isn't going to call, not even an "angry answering machine message," then concludes that the relationship "was a complete waste of time." Char says no, and that "everything happens for a reason." Mir says, "That is such bullshit." Yes. But mainly it's annoying that Char feels compelled to put such a sunny spin on every goddamn little thing. It's okay to not look for the silver lining just yet. But Char re-tells the disgusting story about hooking up with her divorce lawyer after kicking Trey to the curb and now she's so happ-eee. See the ring? Carrie slaps the Post-It over Char's finger and says, "Paper covers rock."