If I could have the attention of the male reading audience, today we discuss the phenomenon that is the new movie Sex and the City.
Men, at the risk of stating the obvious, this movie is not for you.
We all know why. But let me list a few reasons, anyway.
There's the wild fascination with designer clothes and jewelry.
The $700 stiletto heels.
The sipping of those froufrou hot-pink cosmopolitans.
The talk about Botox and bikini-waxing.
The gooey kissing.
The wedding sequence that goes on longer than the Democratic primary.
You don't want to see any of that.
Let's face it, when you go to a movie, you want to see gun battles, car chases, helicopter crashes, things blowing up.
You want to see sex, sure.
But preferably it's the old-fashioned kind that's over in two minutes, with no soaring music and smoldering stares and gauzy close-ups of endless acrobatics.
Not to mention - yuck - the endless cuddling afterward.
By keeping the sex scenes short, this leaves more time for the important stuff: your gun battles, your car chases, your helicopter crashes, etc.
Yet the sad truth is that many of you men will be asked to see Sex and the City with the women in your lives.
Oh, sure, much has been written about this being the ultimate chick flick that women are going to see with other women.
They're getting all dolled up and hiring limos and slurping cosmos through a straw before the show.
They're bonding, elevating their sisterhood, celebrating their femininity and so on.
They're talking shoes with sisters who appreciate shoes.
But that's just some women.
Lots of others are trying to drag their husbands and boyfriends along to see the movie.
In fact, I myself am getting tacit pressure to see it with my wife.
And I have a few friends who are experiencing the same kind of pressure, the pressure that comes with this kind of sentence slipped in: "C'mon, we're always going to movies you want to see."
Naturally, I have resisted, as all men of sound mind must resist.
I know Donald Trump went along with his wife, Melania, to the premiere of the movie in New York. But this was no doubt done for show.
Sure, The Donald was quoted as saying the movie was OK. And he urged other men to take their wives. But I bet after the TV cameras and microphones went away, he turned to his wife and snarled: "Don't ever ask me to do that again, or I'll have it written into the pre-nup."
I don't have a prenuptial agreement with my wife. And anyway, we live in the new poverty of the middle-class - stagnant wages, soaring fuel and food prices, exorbitant college tuition fees. What could she take me for?
So, when she first asked me to go see Sex, I told her the truth.
Look, I said, if I go with you, you won't be able to enjoy the movie.
At the first sight of Carrie on a whirlwind shopping spree, spending money like she just robbed a Wells Fargo truck, I'd be groaning and shaking my head.
Hearing Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and what's-her-name, the other one, start talking about their man problems, I'd be slinking down in my seat.
Watching Carrie and Mr. Big exchange soulful stares after he buys her a penthouse and offers to build a bigger closet for her clothes and shoes - yes, this was in the trailers! - I'd be covering my eyes and whispering,"Please make it stop!" in the darkness.
You know what would happen next, I told my wife.
I would have to run out of the theater and meet her in the parking lot when the movie's over.
You don't need that kind of distraction, I told her.
So, go with a friend. Enjoy the movie.
Don't worry about me. I'll stay home and be just fine.
Maybe I'll even rent a few movies to kill some time.
Let's see: Lawrence of Arabia. The Godfather. Patton. Saving Private Ryan. No Country For Old Men.
Bull Durham, if I really want to get cerebral.
Nothing with cosmopolitans in it.
Or shoe shopping.
Definitely nothing with shoe shopping.
Read more about Sex and the City at baltimoresun.com/sexand thecity