Dowds and Carries

Overheard at the next table yesternight. A bunch of yuppie women were sitting around talking about work. After a couple of drinks, the conversation turned towards Dowd and her NY Times article. Everyone seemed to be raving about it for some inexplicable reason. (Though now that I think about it, it ain't so inexplicable. These women are Dowd's target audience. What did I expect them to say?) And then this:

Woman One: "I think Dowd sees herself as Carrie Bradshaw. You know what I mean."

Woman Two: "Well, don't we all? I mean, show me one woman who is not a Carrie Bradshaw wannabe."

Why, you ask, why do I go to such places? Because I am a masochist, thats why.

Anyway, I think its a good time to inform the world that there are millions and millions of women who are not Carrie Bradshaw wannabes and the only reason you might not know them is because you take Maureen Dowd seriously. Granted I don't watch TV but I have been made to watch a couple of episodes of Sex and the City and have been subjected to so many Carrie Bradshaw stories over lunch and dinner that I do think I know this woman. And I think any woman who claims to be Carrie Bradshaw or wants to be Carrie Bradshaw should be taken to a shrink.

Here are some reasons why some of us are not Carrie Bradshaws - You see, some of really don't like shoes that much. (Apologies to Our Lady of the Shoes). Why would anyone wear anything other than flats is way beyond us. We have to pay hard-earned money to buy those monstrosities which will make our life more painful? We'd rather buy The Da Vinci Code, thank you. And some of us actually have friends who are not desperate, frustrated and white. We also have friends who happen to be gay; we aren't friends with them because they are gay. See the difference? And some of us don't like Mr. Big. What a jackass. Some of us also have lives which don't revolve around the newest bar in town. We really have no desire to hang around Page 3 celebrities and we don't particularly like Fendi handbags. And as much as this surprises you, the burning ambition of our lives is NOT a visit to the Playboy mansion. I could go on and on but I see you begin to get the hang of it.

And btw, some of us actually know that Michiko Kakutani is not a figment of Ms Bushnell's imagination.

So please Ms Carrie Bradshaw wannabe - You wear your red stilettos, sip that Cosmo and ogle at the bartender but please keep your sweeping generalizations about womankind to yourself.