I think I have had ENOUGH of Sex and the City. I have the next two seasons saved in the hard drive and I know I will eventually watch them all...and well...laugh about it with my friends- but I cannot do anything more.
I am much tempted to write though. Re-arranging the cupboard in our tiny flat, now sitting on my red suitcase, I suppose my life is not very different from a Carrie Bradshaw's. It's just that this in NOT New York and random sex is just not the thing...yet...
Would it be easier if it was?
Probably. But then in some strange retarded 'Indian' way - we like our relationships. Stupid sadistic, masochistic, self-derogatory relationships- more often than not- are our security blankets.
I can comment about men and how it is supposed to be. Just the way the sitcom does...but I am on my last nerve on it. I want to scream at Carrie and take away some of her shoes...some.
We...the women of tomorrow. Have sex, break up, get together, cheat...but we just don't talk about it to everyone. I can't have a baby even if I want to- since I am not married...this is not New York yet.
Why not though?
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