21 More Sleeps Until Sex in the City

It's the final countdown to the Sex in the City movie and speculations abound.

The latest rumour claims Mr. Big is killed off, but according to the director, Michael Patrick King, that's just not true.

Which is a bit of a shame since that kind of epic Carrie tragedy would rival the Aidan break-up episodes for sheer heart-breaking, sob-inducing tragedy satisfaction.

For those of you who don't think of Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha and Miranda as a sort of surreal extension of your real social life, you are probably:
a) a man;
b) the kind of woman who thinks she's better than most women and has a lot of male friends;
c) one of those Mormons who was arrested in Texas.

Sex in the City was one of those shows that synchronized so perfectly with my own life lessons that I often looked to it for guidance and empathy in the same way I looked to Beverly Hills 90210 in high school and how I occasionally still look to horoscopes. The reality of either is about as relevant as the 'reality' of gravity.

Is the theory of gravity real? Who the hell cares? All that matters is that I can depend on it to keep me grounded and that's what a good laugh with Samantha, or a wail with Charlotte, does.

As for the movie, I know that Carrie's outfits will be distractingly ridiculous and careers will be secondary to cocktails and brunches but this isn't really different than my own social circle (minus the awesome Manhattan addresses and designer labels).

Because, unless you're 16 years old (or my husband) and looking forward to the sequel of the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants what other upcoming movie portrays not one, but four women who are all educated, opinionated and independent?