The bind that a man finds himself in, especially a man caught up in traditional ideas of
success, and one who may have neglected to pay his wife the proper attention over the
years, is whether or not it is permissible to criticize “Sex and the City” in any way at
all.  To say that its characters are self-absorbed leaves one open to being told that
they just don’t understand women.  To say that the characters represent the same
unattainable ideals as supermodels only labels me a retrograde chauvinist pig.  And to
say that it does not reflect reality only points me up as someone who is hopelessly out
of touch.

So, the only recourse I have is to propose a version of “Sex and the City” in which the
genders of the leading characters are transposed.  Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and
Samantha become Barry, Mark, Charlie and Samuel.   Next, give each guy the latest
fashions from the pages of GQ, and a special affinity for footwear, then have them
complain to each other as much as they want about the women they date, with the
underlying subtext being that the only people they really want to be with are each other.

Wait a minute; I don’t know how this happened.  I just described what women already know.  Come to think of it, I better see “Sex and the City” after all, so I can figure out what life is really like.