(No) Sex And The City Episode Trois “Happy Birthday”

The Cast:  Charlotte, Miranda and Carrie.  All BFF’s.

The time: 1:00 pm lunch

The Place:  RL, Chicago

The girls meet at the host stand and air kiss daintily.

Charlotte (sweetly):  You look stunning, Miranda.  Never thinner.  And those bracelets! Bulgari?  Fabulous.  Oh, hello, Carrie.

Miranda (checking her iPhone):  You too, babe.  That cleanse is really working.  You’ve never looked better.  New bag?  The Ricky?  Love it.  Oh, hello, Carrie.

Carrie: Hi, girls.  Golly, you both look so thin.  And what do you think of my purse?  It’s a…

Charlotte (sweetly):  Spare us.  We can guess.  It’s that same old dreary Hermès back number you’ve been schlepping around since the seventies.  When does “classic” become “tired?”  Buy another bag, dear- for everyone’s sake.

RL Hostess (eagerly):  May I show you ladies to your table now?

Charlotte and Miranda (at the same time): Yes. I have reserved my usual spot.

RL Hostess (bewildered):  You both reserved?

Miranda (pulling out a dollar coin she keeps on her at all times for parking meters): I’ll flip you for it.  Heads.  I win. My table, please.

Charlotte (sweetly):  Wait a moment.  I never had a chance to call it.

(But Miranda is too engrossed in her texts to respond.  They all follow the hostess to Miranda’s table and sit down.)

Charlotte (sweetly):  That was a dirty trick.  But no matter.  I’ve called this meeting today because we have to discuss Samantha’s birthday.  We simply must give her a party.

Miranda (still totally wrapped up in her texting):  I hate that bitch.  She’s a nightmare.

Carrie:  Gosh, is she having a birthday soon?

Charlotte (sweetly):  Yes, she’s forty again- for the tenth time.  And yes, I loathe her as well, but we simply must do the right thing.  So that’s settled. Venues, anyone?

Miranda (furiously typing on her iPad):  The Baton Club?  I’ve always thought she was really a guy, anyway.

Carrie:  Gee, how about my country club?  It’s right on the lake and…

Charlotte (sweetly):  Dowdy, fusty and simply not jazzy enough, dear.  We need a place that “pops.”  I know.  The Fourth Presbyterian Church’s new annex.  It’s stunning.  All that marble, and that yummy “holy” look.  I’ll call the pastor- she’s a very dear friend of mine.

The waiter now approaches the trio.

Waiter:  Good afternoon, ladies.  May I take your order?

Charlotte (sweetly):  The first thing you can do is remove this bread basket.  All those carbs are unsightly and they are cluttering up the tablescape.  And I’ll have a Prosecco.

Waiter:  Certainly, madam.  And for your lunch?

Charlotte (quickly scanning the menu):  I will have the sauteed spinach.  But please ask the chef to steam it, and be sure he removes any trace of garlic.  Thank you.

Miranda (never looking up from her Blackberry):  I brought this with me but can I have a glass of ice, please?  (She pulls out a bottle of caffeine-free Diet Coke.)  And how dark is your rye bread?  Is is dark rye or light rye?

The waiter looks baffled.

Miranda:  Just bring me a piece and I’ll decide after I see it.

Carrie:  Gosh, I’m crazy about the burgers here.  I’ll take an RL Burger, medium, with grilled and raw onions, please.

Charlotte (sweetly):  I can see someone’s social life hasn’t improved since we last convened.  Are you still going out with what’s-his-name, the mattress tester?

Carrie:  Golly, he’s a skateboard tester, and no, we’re on a break right now.

Miranda:  Why?  Did he have to go back and take his SAT’s?

Charlotte (sweetly):  Ladies, ladies, we have to decide about a gift.  And no, Carrie, you always suggest the same thing.  A book.  Boring.  And besides, Samantha is illiterate. Any other ideas? Miranda?

Miranda (speaking into her iPhone):  Hold on, a minute, babe, they’re bugging me about a birthday gift.  How about an orchid?  Everyone loves orchids.

Charlotte (sweetly):  One orchid from the three of us?  Certainly not.  I was thinking of a gift certificate to Dr. Fine.  You know how Samantha loves her Restylane.

Carrie:  Gosh, I didn’t know she had work done. I always thought “good genes.”

Charlotte (sweetly):  Oh, grow up, Carrie.  Everyone we know has had something done- except you.  When are you going to see Anita about that gray hair already?  I’m begging you to make an appointment.  That pitiful hair ages me when we’re in the same room.

The waiter has returned with the spinach, the RL Burger and the piece of rye bread. It’s marbled.

Miranda:  Oh, no.  Take it away.  I’ll just stick to my Diet Coke.

Charlotte (suspiciously but sweetly):  Do I smell garlic?  There IS garlic in the spinach. Take it away and bring me another Prosecco.  Thank you.

Carrie:  Gosh, am I the only one eating?  I hate that.  (She digs in.)

Charlotte (sotto voce):  And is it any wonder you look the way you do?  One too many trips to the burger bar, dear. (She resumes her normal sweet tone.)  Now let’s discuss the birthday cake.  And no, Carrie.  It will not have a picture of Samantha’s dog on it.

Carrie: Jeepers, that seemed like such a good idea.

Miranda (intently taping her iPad):  Why even have a cake?  That’s so childish.  No one eats it, anyway.  How about macarons?  I just checked Yelp and they say that Ladurée has the greatest.

Carrie:  Gosh, isn’t that in New York?

Charlotte (sweetly);  And you’ve never heard of FedEx?  Good idea, Miranda.  They’re divine.  I’ll get in touch with them right away.  They can match the color scheme.  Which brings me to decor.  I’m thinking with all that marble, something “ecclesiastical.”  Red velvet, incense burners, white satin would be smashing.  And flowers.  I know.  Lilies. Lilies everywhere.

Charlotte gets a dreamy, faraway look on her face, while Miranda is furiously texting and Carrie is having a panic attack at the prospect of the florist’s bill.

The curtain comes down.

Fin