Where do I start, my dog agility friends? These were my old friends, we used to drink Cosmo’s together and totter around the city on our super high heels. We went our separate ways for a while, grew older and got some wrinkles, some of us got more dogs, and now we are back together in a sparkly and shiney movie FILLED WITH SUPER EXPENSIVE YET COMPLETELY INSANE CLOTHES!
How do I explain it to you, in terms that are clear and consistent, and we can all relate to? And no more Derrida. Ever. How about, let’s pretend we are at a dog agility trial, it is the USDAA Nationals. And we all have our own motorhomes, the biggest, fastest, wood paneled and air conditioned motorhomes, with little pools for the dogs out front and we park them all together and we have butlers to fix the dogs snacks and spray them down with cooling mists. We actually have minions of servants to do everything for us and bring us frosty margaritas on gold plated trays. We might fret and fuss about not getting a Q, we might get cranky, but we can always retire to our motorhomes, have another cocktail and a good laugh. And we are there for each other, that’s what’s important, Right?
Then, one of the popular dogs who is supposed to be in the Big $10,000 Steeplechase Finals gets a sore foot, and we are all boo hoo hoo and some people are like, so what? And there is a lot of crying and weeping but you know what, we are there for each other. And that dog dies a slow and awful death. But we go on vacation and shopping and buy tons of new Skorts! And goretex shoes and slip-on Vans with every pattern known to mankind and have a cocktail. And we have flat stomachs! And then there is some more shopping and some of the friends get in a little fight but then we go shopping again. And eat in a lot of restaurants that only serve food on large square plates and order not one but 2 bottles of wine whenever we want! And buy new motorhomes that are decorated inside by Ralph Lauren with orignal Hopi woven fabrics and furniture made by glueing millions of tiny sticks on things.
That sort of goes on and on. And then, there is what some of you might think is a happy ending, because the dog didn’t really die, HA HA on you in case you were weeping over that sore foot dog. It is all BETTER now! I was thinking the end was sort of all wrong and Carrie should have turned out to be a heroin addict. And Samantha gets terminal cancer and is an alcoholic and Miranda becomes the defense lawyer for some members of the Bush family and has to write briefs about how they have Nothing To Do With The Oil Prices, and Charlotte, she is just Charlotte except maybe her kids have horrible behavior problems and she becomes inconsolable with her beautiful, popping brown eyes and she starts getting fat and becomes addicted to a seedy chatroom and never comes off that computer.
Oh Carrie Bradshaw. You are so beautiful and you wear so many things we could have worn for dog agility. And you used to write such neat little voiceovers for every episode where there was some kind of moral for every little story about shopping excesses and love gone sour. You are my writing inspiration, you sit there typing on your silver laptop computer just like mine, in your argyle thigh high stockings stretched over your long ballerina legs. And you have long and messy hair which looks artful, even when you wear a turquoise bird on the side of it. But you kind of pulled a stinker here with this one, like we live in an economy today where we think it’s funny to watch 4 rich and vapid ladies the exact same age as me frolic around, flaunting your riches and excesses and partying like it’s 1985 and you love Ronald Reagan. Or like you are all Scarlett Ohara’s, you and your friends, before Atlanta burns, and you are really nice to what you heard was the “hired” help, and on a special occasion, you buy them a special handbag, one that you already have to keep your dog treats in.