Glibbertysmidgeon

I’ve started watching old episodes of Sex and the City during Scarlett’s naps. At first I was just looking for something short and light to entertain me while I eat, but I quickly got hooked. It’s not the characters, which are almost caricatures. It’s not the plot, which is basically the same thing every week. It’s not the dialogue or the music. It’s Manhattan.

The subtext of the show is a love affair with the city, and like the ex-girlfriend who still phones in the night, I’m not over it. I enjoy tormenting myself with nostalgia, dreaming about how great things used to be. As I watch Carrie stroll down the cobbled sidewalk in Tribecca on the arm of some faceless date, I think to myself, “she would not walk on the cobbles in those heels! They should have put the man on that side.” Oh, Manhattan, I know you like she’ll never know you.

Ah, the night life. The freedom to say to your companion, “See you later, I’ll get a cab.” and ditch them on any street corner… The shopping. The food. The stinking, crowded subways. Chinatown. I see now that I never appreciated you as I should have when we were together.

It’s all so familiar, but, as with many old loves, the distance makes it so much more exciting. I imagine how it would welcome me back into it’s noisy embrace. I could go tomorrow.

Then the baby kicks and I look down at my straining maternity blouse, stained with Scarlett’s breakfast. I remember that I left that old love because, for now, we’re not right for each other. I am too tired for night life, too poor for shopping, and too overwhelmed by parenthood to keep up with the blistering pace of life there.

Still. It comforts me. When I’m ready, I’ll be back.