Walking down the street on a rare, rainy day in Los Angeles post-Golden Globes, the air buzzing with Meryl Streep earnestness, I found myself casting a compassionate eye towards the low-level Scientologists huddled under the CVS awning in an attempt to stay dry and wondered, “Wasn’t there a ‘Sex and the City’ episode about that?”
Not “that” a rainy day in LA, but “that” — a politician with a proclivity for watersports. You know how it is. When jonesing for an afternoon latte, the most curious thoughts pop into one’s mind. It’s not like such a thing would ever happen. Sure, you couldn’t pass 100 feet from JFK without ending up in his bed, that Abraham-Lincoln-gave-wife-Mary-syphilis rumor is never going to die, and Anthony Weiner can’t stop sexting — if you can even call it that, since sexting implies “sexy” — randos, but it’s not like a real live politician would ever be into… What do you call them? …Oh, yeah, golden showers.
Still, something about the day made me want to revisit the gossamer confection that was “SATC” — specifically Season 3, when our erstwhile heroine, Carrie Bradshaw, was dating Bill Kelley (John Slattery), a city councilman campaigning to be city treasurer. When your city is New York, that’s a big deal.
Bill was charming and suave. He had a real Roger Sterling quality about him, in fact. But he also had a little bit of a kink — namely, he wanted Carrie to pee on him.
Devil-may-care Samantha thought Carrie should go for it because “there’s always gonna be something,” while stick-in-the-mud Miranda (man, has anyone ever noticed these archetypes?) was of course totally against it, because who knew what his next request would be.
[Fun fact: Carrie wrote her column for The New York Star, a fictionalized version of the New York Observer, the paper owned by Jared Kushner, Donald Trump’s son-in-law. Why is that worth mentioning? Uh … no reason.]
Ultimately, Carrie was true to herself — and admitted to Bill that urinating on her lover has “never really been my thing.” Although she did offer up some other reasonable options: “Maybe you could close your eyes and I could dribble warm tea on you. That might feel good. Or maybe you might think it’s fun to hear the sound of running water when we have sex. And, if things got really serious between us, I could maybe even leave the bathroom door open sometime. Although honestly I’m really not sure how comfortable I would be with that either.”
Ah, memories. So fun. Anyway, back to reality. Smoked butterscotch latte in hand and silly HBO comedies back on the shelf, I turn my attention to serious matters of thought and consideration. There’s a presidential inauguration happening this week, cabinet appointments to vet, Obamas to bid farewell… Important stuff.
Oh — and as for Carrie and Bill, that didn’t work out. Even though she wouldn’t honor his request to pee on him, she had no problem writing about it for her column.
“I realized that politics had not only entered my bedroom but my bathroom as well. I decided then and there that my bravest political act would be to tell the truth. Of course I didn’t use his real name. It was much more political not to.”
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