Two years ago, my friend Susan Sharon,
the East Coast rep for a line of Italian cashmere sportswear,
married a very mean man.
What did I tell you about listening to my CDs?
You put Natalie Imbruglia back in U2!
Now, I only see her once or twice a year,
generally when her husband's out of town.
And now, I cannot remember if I've taken my Halcion before dinner or not.
So I take another one, I have a cocktail,
I'm feeling no pain.
The next thing I know, this freaked out stewardess is slapping me awake.
Senora! Senora!
Buona sera! Buona sera!
So, I open my eyes, I look around the plane, it's completely empty.
Turns out, we landed in Milan 30 minutes ago.
Oh, my God.
Oh, you know what?
Come up to my apartment 'cause I have something for you.
Oh, wow! The place looks fantastic…
Richard's asleep.
Oh… In here? Okay.
Susan Sharon and her husband had one of those very adult apartments
that made me feel like I was about 16, visiting the home of a friend
whose parents thought I was a bad influence.
Happy birthday, Carrie. Happy birthday, Carrie.
You didn't have to.
I know it's a little early.
Oh, jeez.
Oh, Susan Sharon, it's beautiful.
It's 100% Italian cashmere and light as a feather.
God, I love it.
It's a "cashmere-ical."
You wouldn't believe what Barneys gets for this.
Oh, don't tell me.
- $900. - $900 for a scarf? No.
Oh, no!
Do you mind if I return it? I could really use the cash.
Oh, why not?
Why do you think they call it "cash-mere"?
- What the hell is going on? - Sorry, honey.
But Carrie had this idea about returning…
What was our agreement about visitors after 9:00 pm?
I know, it's just that it's her birthday…
I'm on London time!
I've got to be up in three hours when the markets open.
So I'd really appreciate it if you take the fucking noise somewhere else.
Okay, sweetie. I'm gonna give you a call, okay?
Okay, you know what? Just ignore him. You don't have to leave.
It's okay. It's okay.
- Goodnight, Grumpy. - Get the fuck out of my house!
Taunting the psychotic spouse, I realized, was not a wise move.
Just shut the fuck up!
I wondered, could Susan Sharon's marriage be that bad,
or was their fighting just a form of foreplay?
In which case, I was merely the catalyst to get things going.
Hello.
I am so sorry.
I'm so embarrassed.
No, don't be.
He's just… He's just tired and cranky.
That was classic Richard.
Tyrannical, emotionally abusive. I don't know what to do anymore.
Well… Maybe there were special circumstances tonight.
He works hard.
He's sleep deprived.
Blah, blah, blah. I don't give a shit!
What would you do if you were with a guy like that?
Would you leave?
Well… you know, If things didn't change…
Well, they haven't,
and they won't.
So, you think I should leave him?
If you're not happy, you know, life's too short.
I gotta go.
As I hung up, I realized
I had just been placed in a classic no-win situation.
Telling a friend to leave her husband is something you just don't do.
If she does break up with him, it's your fault.
If she doesn't break up with him,
she knows that you think that she should,
and therefore, can never speak to you again.
Either way, you're screwed.
Which is a shame, because there goes your cashmere connection.
She had me at a weak moment.
I was tired, I'd been chased out of her apartment.
I have a birthday looming.
I said too much.
No, I just think in an intimate relationship
- you should be able to say anything. - I would highly disagree.
Practically all the relationships I know are based on a foundation of lies
and mutually-accepted delusion.
James and me, for instance.
I pretend that he doesn't have a small dick and…
He pretends not to notice we haven't had sex for three weeks.
You should be working for the UN.
I happen to be in an intimate relationship at the moment,
and I can tell you, that the level of verbal discourse
has become a little too intimate.
- Are we speaking of Spring Roll Guy? - Spring Roll Guy? Who's that?
Aaron Melman.
He's a dermatologist I met
at the Vietnamese lunch truck outside my building.
So, what's the problem?
The problem, if you can call it that,
is Spring Roll Guy liked to talk dirty in bed.
Oh, baby, I just love the way your pussy feels.
So wet…
and warm…
and tight.
Kissing your beautiful tits feels unbelievably sexy.
So hot and nasty.
How's it feel to you?
Umm…
What you said.
That can be a turn on.
Sure, but now he wants me to reciprocate, and I can't.
- I never could. - Why not?
Because sex is not a time to chat.
In fact, it's one of the few instances
in my overly articulated, exceedingly verbal life
where it is perfectly appropriate, if not preferable, to shut up.
And now suddenly I have to worry about being stumped for conversation?
No, thank you.
Just keep talking about his big cock.
Correction, his big, beautiful cock.
- We're using the "C" word now? - Sorry.
I can't use adjectives.
A simple, "You're so hard," is often quite effective.
Sometimes men just need to hear a little encouragement.
Such as?
You know…
"Yes, stud, that's right. Uh-huh.
Don't stop, just like that. Come on, fucker, don't stop."
You're kidding, right?
Wow!
No, they like it.
So, are you really telling us
that during sex you're just… you're completely mute?
No, I can do a good orgasm alert, you know…
"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum."
But that's because, you know, I'm gonna cum.
Anything else feels like make believe.
Well, if you really like this guy, then you're gonna have to start talking.
Was Miranda right?
Have we put such a premium on being open and honest with one another,
that we've misplaced the boundaries of propriety?
Are there still certain things in a relationship one should never say?
My best friend just got engaged to the biggest loser I've ever met.
What am I supposed to tell her? "You're marrying an imbecile"?
My wife, she's had her breasts done twice.
They look fantastic, they feel like shit.
I keep that thought to myself.
I'm a single, 38-year-old woman still hoping to get married.
I don't want to know the truth.
I told Richard I couldn't spend another day
married to a man who behaves like an utter asshole.
There it was, standing across from me.
Biscotti-eating, cashmere-swaddled proof that I had said too much.
So, then what happened?
Well, once I said that, the floodgates just opened.
He said to me that there was a moment during our wedding,
when he looked at me,
and he felt a huge wave of disappointment
because I looked so generic.
I said to him, "You know what?
On second thought, no. I don't think the Rogaine is working."
So then he said to me that if I leave, all he'll feel for me is pity
because he'll be remarried within a year
and I'll be single for the rest of my life.
I didn't want to tell Susan Sharon
that his last statement was probably true.
I just feel like I owe you so much.
I mean, if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have had the guts to do this.
Oh, I didn't really…
It's like I was under house arrest for the past few years
and now I'm suddenly free.
So, what are you gonna do?
Do you mind if I stay at your place tonight?
Of course not.
That evening, as Susan Sharon squatted on my couch,
Charlotte came home to the new male in her life.
Fed up with lonely mornings, cuddle-free nights
and the lack of unconditional love she so longed for,
Charlotte decided to take matters into her own hands.
She combed the city for the perfect specimen
of breeding, style and trendiness.
Henry, I'm home.
Hi, my good boy.
Hello, Henry. My good boy.
Until she found the perfect man,
Charlotte would have the perfect dog.
That night, Samantha, who was never any good at keeping a secret,
suddenly found the one thing she couldn't say
was the only thing she could think about.
Sweetheart, is anything wrong?
Because if there is, I want you to tell me.
No, honey, I'm tired.
I just feel like you've become so distant,
like you're upset with me about something.
I'm sorry. It's not you, it's me.
I'm not upset about anything.
You're wonderful.
Will you do me a favor and come see a couple's counselor with me?
Samantha dreaded the shrink, the way most people feared the dentist.
Well, if it's really important to you…
Great.
Goodnight.
She suddenly longed for the simple days
of emotional unavailability and hot one-night stands.
Meanwhile, across town, Miranda was appearing as Eliza Doolittle
in My Filthy Lady.
I just love kissing this sensitive spot right here.
You like that?
Uh-huh.
Tell me what you like.
That.
You like my hand there, caressing your breast?
Sure.
Gently pinching your nipple?
Fine.
Oh, yeah.
Kissing my chest.
That's hot. That really turns me on.
How's it feel?
Hot?
Hot.
And?
- Hairy? - Oh, God, you're getting me hard.
Tell me how it feels.
Big.
And?
Hard?
- Rock hard. - Yeah, keep talking.
- A big rock. - Yes.
A hard rock.
- A big, hard rock. - Oh, yeah.
- A sausage. - Baby, you are so nasty.
Surprisingly enough, once Miranda opened her mouth,
she found it difficult to shut up.
A big, throbbing, rock-hard sausage.
That night, I took Susan Sharon
to meet the new male in Charlotte's life.
True to form, he was already falling far short of her high expectations.
Well, he did it a minute ago.
He was inconsistent…
Get the ball, Henry.
…selfishly stubborn, and hopelessly codependent.
Isn't he smart?
We shouldn't stay long,
I want to be back at your apartment in case Richard calls.
What do you mean? I though you were leaving him?
I am. But if he calls,
I want to be there to tell him that I don't wanna talk to him.
Well, that's really passive aggressive.
You should only speak to him if you have something specific to say.
- Do you believe I married such a prick? - You didn't know he was a prick.
I just can't believe that prick hasn't called.
Although, he does have this sweet side, you know.
You just don't know him very well.
Do you think I did the right thing, Henry?
Or should I give him another chance…
He's a dog, not an oracle.
The next morning, I woke up to an unsettling birthday surprise.
Coming.
Sign here.
Thank you.
Oh, my God.
"Best wishes on your birthday."
It's from Big.
- What kind of flowers? - Roses, red.
Big.
Expensive.
- What do you think it means? - It means rip up the card.
And watch out for the thorns.
No, no, no. This is the grand gesture.
The grand gesture?
Yeah, you know…
If you break up with someone
and they just disappear from your life altogether,
well then, it wasn't meant to be.
But if they make a powerful declaration of their love,
then you really have to reconsider.
You think a dozen roses and a card that says,
"Best wishes" qualifies as the grand gesture?
Well, you know men. They can never say, "I was wrong." They just send flowers.
Yeah, well, sometimes a rose is just a rose.
Now, jewelry, that's another story.
Henry, no.
Henry, no, not the purse.
You know, I really don't need this on my birthday.
Really, what does this mean, the ball's in my court or something?
I don't wanna play games.
This is not the grand gesture.
This is the vague gesture, which is truly worse than no gesture at all.
You know, under the guise of being thoughtful,
he's actually being very selfish.
I agree, he's muddied the waters.
You're all just cuckoo.
The man sends her flowers on her birthday and you're all condemning him.
Henry, no. No, damn it.
For Christ's sake, give the dog a break.
He's already eaten four pairs of shoes.
I just don't want him starting on purses.
Damn it, now. Okay, we're gonna go home.
You said you wanted to get out and socialize,
but you'll have to learn to behave.
Bye.
Speaking of cuckoo…
Charlotte was at the point in her relationship
where she was starting to see the real Henry.
But she did raise a valid question.
Was, "I was wrong," the one thing Mr. Big couldn't say?
I realized that just because we were no longer together,
didn't mean I couldn't be polite.
Yeah.
Hey, it's me.
Carrie.
Hey. How are you doing?
Great. Listen, I just wanted to call and thank you for the flowers.
That was thoughtful of you.
Oh, yeah, yeah. Well, you know, my secretary had it on her calendar,
so I, you know…
Oh. So your secretary sent them?
No, I sent the flowers, my secretary alerted me to the day.
That was very thoughtful of her and you for sending them.
So, you're welcome. What are you doing on the big day?
Oh, well…
Stanford's arranged this party down at Layla,
you know, it's that Moroccan restaurant.
You should come.
The instant the words popped out of my mouth, I regretted them.
Well, I… I…
I made plans already.
Or not. I mean, just forget it.
I could maybe stop by later.
Fine. I mean, whatever.
I… uh…
I may bring someone.
Well, yeah…
Come and bring that person and maybe I'll see you later and…
Thank you again for the thoughtful flowers.
I couldn't believe it.
I had just invited my ex and his date to my birthday party,
as if getting older wasn't traumatic enough.
That afternoon in the office of Velma Rudin,
celebrated psychologist and author of In-to-me-see,
A Couple's Guide to Intimacy,
Samantha did her best not to say
the one thing she knew she should not say.
I can't help but notice that our sex life has diminished.
That's normal, isn't it? I mean, after a while…
How long has it been?
A month.
Don't take it all so seriously.
Have fun with your sexuality.
Have you tried playing erotic games?
Samantha had a burning desire to confess
that James had been playing "hide the salami" since the day met.
I'm just not feeling very sexual these days.
I saw you masturbating the other day when I came out of the shower.
Many women are simply unable to achieve orgasm through intercourse.
It's nothing to be ashamed of.
You think you have a big problem with intimacy.
No, that's not it.
- Then what is it? - It's nothing.
Nothing. Forget about it.
Sweetheart, there is nothing you say that can hurt me,
as long as it's what you're feeling.
That seems to be all the time we have for today.
Nice work, you two.
Shall we say next week, same time?
Good for me.
Samantha?
The idea of seeing Velma "In-to-me-see" Rudin on a weekly basis
was much more than Samantha could bear.
Your penis is too small.
Excuse me?
It doesn't… and it just… it can't.
I can't. And it's…
It's just too damn small.
Did you ever stop to think that maybe your vagina is too big?
What can I say? I need a big dick.
I hear that.
As Samantha paid the price of mentioning the unmentionable,
Miranda discovered that free speech comes with a cost of its own.
I just love putting my hand around your cock.
I just love hearing you say "cock."
Your big hard cock.
Cock, cock, cock…
Why couldn't I ever say that before?
It's just a word.
Why does it turn us both on when I say it?
What else do you like?
I like it when you're rough.
When you throw my legs over your head, I lose all control.
Mmm-hmm.
And what do I like?
You like it when I'm biting your nipple.
Mmm-hmm.
And what else?
You like it when I'm kissing your balls.
Oh, yeah, keep going.
And you really like it when I slip my finger in your ass.
Excuse me?
You just love a finger in your ass.
How was I supposed to know that, "You love a finger in your ass"
is the one thing you can't say to a man in bed?
Trust me, that's not the only thing.
- But it's true, he enjoys it. - So do a lot of men.
Oh, no. They enjoy it, they just don't want it brought to their attention.
Personally, I don't like anything in my ass.
I know that may come as a surprise.
I just feel so betrayed, you know.
He tried to get me to start talking dirty,
then I kinda got into it a little bit,
then he pulled the rug out from under me.
Men are so frustratingly inconsistent. That's why I love my Henry.
He's a big love bug. You tell him anything and he just licks your face.
Charlotte, you may be onto something.
Waiter, another double vodka rocks for the birthday girl.
The truth was, vodka was my only ally.
At any moment, Big was just gonna walk right in here with his gorgeous date,
smile at me like some distant stranger and say something absolutely crushing…
Happy birthday, baby.
Hi!
Hey, glad you could make it.
I can't stay long.
Left my camel outside.
Oh, Carrie, you remember Jack, right?
Jack? You mean…
Jack is your date?
I wasn't aware we were formally dating, but…
It is so good to see you again.
How have you been?
Marvelous, just split up with a bitch who broke my heart.
At least, she didn't get my money.
Well, happy birthday to me.
An hour later, my Arabian Nights fantasy birthday felt like Midnight Express.
- How are you? - Great.
How are you?
Good. Fine.
Good.
Excuse me, what is your ex doing at your birthday?
I told him to drop by for a drink.
Jeez, I didn't think he'd stay for a lap dance.
Oh, my God, have you tried the baba ghanoush?
It is to die for.
I don't eat baba ghanoush.
Oh! You don't know what you're missing.
I can't believe the bastard had the nerve to show up.
I can't believe what that woman can do with her bellybutton.
Please, I'm about to lose my couscous.
While I watched my ex get a Mesopotamian lap dance,
Susan Sharon made a play for Mr. Marvelous.
I don't know if I can't deal with being single all over again.
I mean, it's not like every relationship
doesn't have its ups and downs, you know.
It's just that my husband and I, we work very hard.
We probably don't spend enough downtime together.
Compounded by the fact that neither of us gets enough sleep.
You know… Then again, who does?
I just that I really never imagined myself as a divorcee, you know?
But I do think it's more important to till your own soil
than it is to go in search of greener pastures.
Do you ever shut the fuck up?
In that moment, Susan Sharon suddenly realized
how much she desperately missed her husband.
Henry!
That night, Charlotte came home to a very unpleasant surprise.
Henry!
Henry! Bad!
Bad!
Charlotte realized, like so many males before him,
Henry had shit all over her perfect world.
He and Charlotte soon parted ways,
and the one thing she could never say was,
"I got rid of the puppy."
Of course we all know what happened to him.
He'd become the glue that put
Susan Sharon and her husband back together again.
Shut up.
Shut the fuck up.
Although neither of them could ever admit
that a dog saved their marriage.
And later that evening,
as my birthday passed into the early morning hours of just another day,
I found myself alone on the street with Mr. Big.
Another year older.
And none the wiser.
Hey, that's the way it goes.
- Can I give you a ride home? - No, I'm just gonna grab a cab.
- Do you need cab fare? - No, I'm okay.
Good, because I think I left all my $20 in that belly dancer's crotch.
Well…
Goodnight.
As I watched him go,
I realized the one thing I couldn't say to Mr. Big was…
"I'm still not over you."