FROM THE ARCHIVE.Why does "Sex & The City" always make me think of that ancient Saturday Night Live parody, "Married in a Minute"? Is it because the sparkling sexual repartee only slightly freshens attitudes straight out of Pillow Talk? Does the shade of Clare Boothe Luce haunt the scenes until backwards reels the mind? In any case, herewith a suggested scenario:
SEX & THE SITCOM
Our heroines have met for another damn luncheon.
Charlotte: I met this guy...
Carrie: Oooh, what is he? Investment banker? Dot-com billionaire? Inexplicably solvent jazz musician?
Charlotte: Well, he's broke, actually.
Miranda: I don't follow.
Charlotte: I mean he doesn't have any money.
Samantha: You mean it's all in stocks?
Charlotte: No, no, I mean he has a really low-paying job and student loans to pay, but he's really adorable...
Samantha: Oh, he's a model! Well, honey, I have plenty of connections --
Charlotte: Um, he's a file clerk, Samantha. But he's really cute and sweet and we're going out again tomorrow night.
Miranda: Wait, let's start over. So his family has money and he doesn't need a five-figure income?
Charlotte: No --
Carrie: I think I see what's going on here. I'm a sexpert, you know. Charlotte, honey, you're so naive. What makes you think this loser will ever have any money?
Charlotte: I don't know, it's not really --
Miranda: God, men, they're all alike! They wine you and dine you and then, when it's time to come across with dinner at Moomba, they tell you, "I'm sorry, it's not you, it's me -- I'm poor."
Samantha: Ugh, that is such a cop-out.
Charlotte: Wine you and dine you and then have sex with you. You forgot the sex, Miranda.
Miranda: Oh, that's right. You did have sex with him, didn't you?
Charlotte: Oh, of course, but --
Samantha: Ugh, Charlotte! How you could possibly have sex with this homeless person! Wait -- actually this is kind of turning me on.
Miranda: Samantha! We know you've fucked women, priests, and television anchormen, but you can't expect us to believe that you'd fuck a, a, a -- a credit risk?
Samantha: Well, I don't know. It's all so new and transgressive.
Carrie: Now you listen to me, Charlotte. There are some lines you just don't cross, and class lines are the most uncrossable! Oh my God! That's a column! (She pulls out a G3 notebook and starts writing notes.)
Charlotte: All right! Okay! I actually have a date next week with the impotent scion of a top New York family!
Samantha: Oooh, now we're getting somewhere!
Later Carrie becomes involved with a dashing, soft-spoken rap mogul who, after many romantic and expensive love scenes, beats the holy crap out of her. We see her at the restaurant with the girls, holding a monogrammed Kate Spade bag filled with ice against her face.
Carrie: And then he just clocked me, bam! Right across the left orbital.
Miranda: And you hadn't asked him to?
Charlotte: No. I was going to, but not until the fifth date.
Charlotte: How cruel! How cruel and just awful!
Samantha: Charlotte, you're laying on the twerp factor a little heavy this week, aren't you?
Miranda: This isn't my legal specialty, but I know a good domestic abuse man who could --
Samantha: Domestic abuse! God, it sounds so tacky!
Carrie: Yeah, Miranda, how would that look on my dating resume? God, how could I be more of a loser?
Samantha: "Dating resume" -- hey, that's good. Have you trademarked it yet?
Carrie: Oh my God! (She pulls out a G3 notebook and starts writing notes.)
Miranda: Well, it was only a matter of time, Carrie. He does live in that violent world of the streets.
Samantha: What streets? Park Avenue and 61st?
Carrie: (still typing) Don't forget the summer house in Amagansett.
Miranda: God, they always revert, don't they?
Samantha: Do you mean men or black people?
Miranda: Men, of course! Do you think I'm some kind of a bigot?
Carrie: (shutting the G3) Well, I've learned my lesson: In my next relationship, only the subtext will be violent.
Samantha: Well said, girlfriend. Find yourself a nice, absurdly young senior executive in the banking or communications industries. They may humiliate you, belittle you, and treat you like shit, but they probably won't bitch-slap you.
Waiter: Who gets the chive fritatta?
Later Charlotte is in some well-appointed boudoir with a handsome middle-aged banker. Both are partially dressed.
Banker: I can only have sex while dressed as Captain Kangaroo and listening to Sousa Marches.
Charlotte: Um, okay.