Cha Cha and the City

I always fancied myself a Carrie. I’m a writer, right? And I have outrageous jewelry and carry vintage handbags. Totally a Carrie.

And then? And then I went out with the guy who peeled callouses off his hands and ate them.

It was then that I realized that although I like to fancy myself a Carrie, really, deep down, my little Episcopalian self is a Charlotte. I’m finicky and precise and would never, ever date a married man. Totally a Charlotte.

In my drug-induced stupor the other night, however, I had a much larger epiphany. Save your “The SATC girls are caricatures of aspects of every woman’s personality” comments – dude, I know. This theme has been picked to death, but I am slow. Gimme a break.

I’m Miranda.

And Mr. eHarmony is Steve.

I was flipping channels and caught Miranda’s “I use canned spaghetti sauce. And sometimes I don’t do laundry for, like, two weeks. And my sponges smell” diatribe.

And my little brain began to scream through the painkillers. “Yes! Yes! She is our people’s spokesmodel!”

And then Steve just hugged her anyway.

Mr. eHarmony is, like, way nice to me. Like, all the time. Even when I’m grouchy. Even when I’m grouchy and all CadaverMouth. Even when I’m grouchy and it’s morning and I’m really grouchy and wondering why god invented other people.

I’m not really sure why. Sometimes it annoys me. Why is he so nice? Why does he appear to like me all the time, especially when I really don’t like him before 9 a.m. ever?

I never wondered why Steve liked Miranda. So maybe I should just go with this, too.

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