Carrie, I Mean, Sarah

I’m really not ready to talk about our camping trip just yet, so
instead I will recount a dream I had in the fitful sleep I suffered
during the overnight thunder storm on Sunday instead. Perhaps I should
mention that sleep was fitful because we were in a nylon tent during
the thunder storm.

I am one of those people who didn’t realize what all the fuss over Sex and the City
was about until it was too late. I watched the series finale and kicked
myself for not watching sooner. Fortunately, the show is in syndication
on practically every network so I can catch up. I’ve always been a late

I wouldn’t say I idolize Sarah Jessica Parker’s
character, Carrie Bradshaw, but I certainly would like to add a little
of her confidence and style to my own personality. It would help if I
had the billions of cool accessories that Carrie has, but I only have a
handful, so I gotta make do with a little less flash and focus on the
underlying sense of self that allows her to wear that stuff so well.
Sarah herself seems just as cool as Carrie.

Last summer during the Toronto International Film Festival,
I was convinced that I saw Sarah Jessica Parker walking along King
Street one day around 5 pm. I was stuck waiting to cross at a red light
so I wasn’t able to confirm if it was her. I considered bolting into
the street, risking my life to meet her, but what would I have said
anyway? "Hi, you’re pretty" or "I love you in the Gap ads"? Very smooth.

the dream I was standing on King Street, wearing my best outfit – my
embroidered skirt, which I’ve since ruined by spilling coffee on it.
I’m not sure what I was doing just standing there, but Sarah Jessica
Parker walked right up to me and started chatting. We hit it off and
she asked if I wanted to hang out with her at her hotel suite
(evidentally Matthew Broderick had other plans). Obviously, I wasn’t
going to turn her down. So I go, and we’re just chilling out having a
great conversation, only I keep calling her Carrie. Over, and over, Carrie uhhh I mean Sarah
(slap forehead). To make a long story short, she was very patient with
me, putting it down to the fact that I was nervous being in the
presence of her fabulous self. After a few hours though, she got tired
of being called a fictitious name and kicked me out for acting like
such a moron.

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