Last Friday night, like millions of other women in America, I put on my fanciest shoes, met a crowd of gal pals for dinner and then we went enmasse to see Sex and the City.
My sister Katie had gotten us tickets on line for the seven o'clock show because the 8:00 and 8:15 shows were already sold out. Then she tried to make us all dinner reservations at a restaurant in the same mall only to be told there were no tables to be had.
"Is this about Sex and the City?" the hostess asked her.
"Yes."
"I thought so. All our tables are booked for large parties of women."
So, ever resourceful, Katie made reservations for a place across the street.
We all met for dinner and between the seven of us we had cumulatively experienced teenaged motherhood, divorce, marriage and remarriage; we owned or were partners in four businesses and had at least fifteen kids ranging in age from 25 to due in a month. We were all big fans of the show.
We were dressed up and wearing our best shoes. On our feet were a pair of pink patent leather open toed spikes, red patent leather three inch mary janes, gold lame four inch open toed spikes with a gold knot on the toe, classic black three inch pumps, turquoise beaded strappy two inch sandals and two dollar flip flops from target.
Surprisingly, the flip flops weren't on my feet.
I was wearing a pair of black two inch sandals covered with silver and gold sequins that I bought two years ago at DSW and haven't had an opportunity to wear yet. I bought them because they were pretty, they fit (that never happens) and they were on sale for 17 bucks. The clerk asked me if I wanted to be on the DSW mailing list.
"Uh, no." I said.
"You get really good coupons and stuff." she tried to tempt me.
"No, really, I only buy shoes once a decade or so."
She stared at me as though I had said I was going to take the shoes home and eat them.
Two years later I finally got to wear them. I had those bad boys on my feet for four hours and they were not uncomfortable.
Anyway, we got to the theater none too early and that's when Katie realized she had forgotten her confirmation number. Ordering tickets on line is not as easy and carefree as the commercials would lead you to believe. So the seven of us stood and waited while hordes of younger, quicker (though less well insured) women stormed the theater and took all the good seats.
Finally, a manager who was clearly worried about a mob of angry women in stilettos going chicken killer on him, just opened the rope and let us in. I have no idea if we ever got our tickets. The manager lead us all the way into the theater and found us the only seats left in the house. There were already fifty women all dressed up waiting for the next show!
The good news is we all got seats together.
In the front row.
None of us minded at the time but we all had headaches and stiff necks the next day.
I was sitting with Mary Jeanne and Fran and they were funnier than the movie.
The weird thing about sitting in the front row is it's really easy to forget there's an entire theater full of people behind you. It was so loud and so big up there that we felt like we were in the movie, which wasn't always a good thing.
The first scene in which we see two of the less attractive characters in bed, MJ and F screamed in unison.
"Oh God! make it stop!" MJ cried.
"It's like a horror movie!" Fran yelled.
It was.
From our vantage point, two feet from the bottom of the huge screen, all the characters looked like giants with huge hands and tiny heads.
Without giving away any plot points I'll just say the movie was about the need to forgive people. Especially the people you love; if you don't, you cause more suffering than the initial transgression.
After the show, we went out to drink and discuss. We all enjoyed the movie, although some of us had problems with some aspects of it. It wasn't as funny as the show; it was too long; the plot was too contrived and the characters reactions too convenient.
All true. But I loved it so I forgave it.
Like earlier, the place we were in after the show was packed with groups of women clearly either coming or going to the movie. I found myself in the ladies room with two twenty somethings.
"I'm really worried that someone is going to say something about the movie before we get there!" one said to the other. I smiled at her and said "Big stands Carrie up at the altar!" and they both broke into tears.
I did not. That would be too mean.
What I really said was "Snape kills Dumbledore!"
They looked at me the way you look at strangers who address you in the ladies room and as they backed away I yelled "I am Ironman!"
It was all great fun. I haven't seen yet what the opening weekend numbers were but I think it's safe to say that had to be the biggest opening weekend for a chick flick, ever.
