Sex and the City

When I say I've never watched a single episode of "Sex and the City", I mean not one second of any show, any year, any rerun. When women I know and like tell me they "secretly" watch or love SATC, I am inconsolable, my heart sinks.

You know who probably adores SATC? Who brays to her terrifying girlfriends about "BLAHniks" and "Cozmos"? Sandy Whatsherface.

Sandy and I worked together at a major investment bank, on the Mergers and Acquisitions floor, in midtown Manhattan. I was the hot, young broker's assistant and she was the 300-year old broker's assistant. Where I usually looked like I walked off MTV's The Grind, Sandy looked like she walked off the set of Golden Girls, even though she was probably in her '30s.

Sandy had her band of Staten Island groupies, who toiled in the file room or at the switchboard. They would eat up all Sandy's gossip and participate in her high school antics, like looking over their low cubicles over at me and my friend, Jennifer, a timid Long Island girl, and whispering and cackling. In the cafeteria they would gather with their Diet Cokes to read aloud Candace Bushnell's column from the New York Observer.

Because I was young, arrogant, I was sure I could write circles around some Observer hack who probably had to do unspeakable things to get that gig. From what I unwillingly overheard in the cafeteria, this Candace Bushnell was just an idiotic, narcissistic slut who got what she deserved.

My boyfriend at the time worked for Murdoch himself, a friend of the family. As a result, we went to some swanky events. Lo, I was introduced to people who were newspaper headlines. I saw La Bushnell at a party in the Rainbow Room and had all my prejudices confirmed.

Back at the salt mines, I made a beeline over to Sandy and gave her my most obnoxious smile. "Sandy," I purred, "You just won't believe who I met this weekend — your hero, Candace Bushnell!" She scowled and said, "You're lying." I just ha-ha'd and told her that she, Sandy, was classier than icky Candace Bushnell.

She looked incredulously at her gaggle of Diet Coke goons. "I can't believe you would say that, you are such a little bitch. How dare you!"

Apparently, stupid people don't appreciate having their idols run down. Who knew?

What happened next is, of course, the Sandys won. I was called into the HR department to discuss my attitude and offered a demotion. Candace Bushnell was actually taken very seriously and weirdly adored by the Gays. She is now very rich, indeed, and her odious offspring, SATC, is bound for "Classic" TV show anointment.

Here's my review of SATC: The Movie, without me ever seeing it or knowing the characters and their stupid story lines: It's an idiotic, narcissistic, totally gay waste of time about some ugly old sluts.

Sandy is probably having an SATC Party with her creepy girlfriends and dressing up to go to the movies in Staten Island. She found some Manolo Blahnik shoes at Century 21, maybe, to class-up her usual ill-fitting and unfashionable outfit.

Good for her. I never had the chance to get to know Sandy deeply, so pardon my conjecture. It's not her fault that Candace Bushnell wrote a revolting column in a forgettable newspaper. Sandy herself is not responsible for the success of the subsequent revolting TV show, or the movie. In truth, Sandys are the victims in this scenario.

What is SATC trying to sell us? Whatever it is, I ain't buying.

Happy Mother's Day