It’s a good thing Charlotte’s feet are planted so steadily on the ground at the beginning of this episode because Harry reveals to her on an after-dinner walk that he has prostate cancer (hence the recent erection and incontinence issues!!). His one request is that Charlotte not tell anyone about his (early!) diagnosis. Charlotte, a born yapper, might be having as hard a time with that as with the thought of her husband being sick. I swear to God herself if we lose Harry, the one good man left in New York City, I’ll light Bloomingdale’s on fire.
In an attempt to maintain normalcy, the Goldenblatts keep their weekend glamping escape to Governors Island with the Todd Wexley clan. I have so many thoughts about this: Namely that, if these Upper East Siders are looking for a quick weekend escape, they’re going to head to Hudson or the North Fork, not a twenty-something influencer haven that looks out onto Jersey City.
Speaking of views… Lisa is developing a small crush on her handsome and charming new editor, Marion. She sheepishly admits this to Charlotte as if it’s a bit of a marital digression. To be fair, Herbert did get a peek at a photo of Marion and is somewhat concerned about his wife’s new colleague. Charlotte, with Harry’s health perpetually on her mind, doesn’t offer much advice for Lisa’s stressful new work dynamic.
Now, I did mention up top that we got not one but two instances of full frontal nudity, and I apologize it’s taken this long for me to address them. Miranda, who’s temporarily housed in an Airbnb, also finds herself embroiled in some neighborly drama. But her neighbor is blasting heavy metal at all hours, so she slips a note under the door asking him to stop. In response, this long-haired middle-aged man swings open the door, fully naked, wielding a meat cleaver, screaming, “If you slide another note under my door, I will fucking cut you to pieces.” New York hospitality! She promptly moves into an extra room in Carrie’s palatial Gramercy estate, where she manages to devolve into the world’s most bumbling and inconsiderate house guest. I hate it.
A lot of ink has been spilled on how this new iteration of Miranda feels like a shell of the witty and self-determined woman we loved in the original series. And sure, a divorce and subsequent first queer heartbreak will rattle anybody. But this episode gave us a tactless and inept Miranda, who thoughtlessly eats all of Carrie’s food, spills drinks on Carrie’s brand-new table (that Aidan bought for her for, I think, $20,000, if I read the flash of the receipt on the screen right….), and cleans it up with Carrie’s vintage scarf. Also, not for nothing, Miranda shows up at Carrie’s house with matching monogrammed luggage; preppy and pointless accessories she would have scoffed at not long ago.
I just don’t understand why she is still so pathetic? She’s getting her mojo back; her career is taking her in interesting new directions; she’s dating and making out with Joy, who, compared to Che, is wildly more stable and mature. Why is she still being characterized as so helpless? It’s no fun to watch. Anyways, the second instance of full frontal nudity was Miranda spooking Carrie in the middle of the night after she didn’t sleep over at her new beau’s house because Joy’s dogs wouldn’t stop staring at them making out. That small part made me laugh; otherwise, I was frowning the entire time Miranda was on screen.
Seema is also down on her luck, but luckily—for us—in not such a pitiful way. After breaking off from her firm to go solo, she’s denied a bank loan to secure her own office. Obviously not ideal, but she does get to smoke a cigarette and coyly complain about it to Carrie’s hot fuckboy gardener. I hope something, excuse the pun, grows between those two. There’s a hot upstairs-downstairs vibe to it.
Speaking of…Carrie manages to save her grouchy downstairs neighbor from a stove fire by stomping out the flames with her—you guessed it—stilettos. The two of them patch up the icy feelings over dinner, where Duncan reveals he’s nervous about his next big book because he’s writing about a, drumroll please, woman. And not just any woman, but Margaret Thatcher. Here’s to hoping that future episodes involve Carrie waxing poetic about her connections to the Iron Lady: I couldn’t help but wonder, if one woman was so obsessed with inflation, might it distract her from the elation she’d otherwise feel?? And also that Harry beats cancer and that some sort of medical intervention leads Miranda to regrow a fucking backbone.
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