Credits. Cha, cha-cha, cha-cha. Cha, cha-cha, cha-cha. Cha, cha-cha, cha-cha, cha-cha, whee, go xylophone! Splashy bus! Cha cha cha.
Carrie and Berger round the corner of Prince and Spring, arm in arm. She has a goofy clear umbrella and a silvery vintage-looking purse. The blue crochet dress is very '70s. The granny panties beneath them, very 50-year-old lady. Berger is resplendent in a brown tweedy blazer and worn blue t-shirt. He asks if he looks okay, as he "wants to make a good impression." She smiles at him, saying she's sure they'll love him. She VOs that for some couples, the important first step is "meeting the parents." For her, it's "meeting the Prada." She and Berger walk into the newer Prada store, which massive and impressive and yet comfortable and approachable all at once. I love Prada, and the Prada store. One of my fondest New York memories is shopping with Gustave at the other Prada store in SoHo (before the massive one opened) and watching him buy a pair of Prada Sport sandals. Yeah, I watched. And I got off on it, too. Now, in this economy, the full-price Prada splurge is just a memory for us both. But I've got four pairs of Prada shoes, Prada Sport pumps, and a pair of crazy Miu Miu sandals in my closet, just waiting for better times to come back around so they can have a new sister to play with. My Helmut Lang skirt still needs a brother.
Upon entering the store, Berger exclaims, "Holy shit!" Yeah, the Prada store can do that to you. The steps, the luggage, the wall of tiny lip balms and creams. God, do I love the tiny lip balms. They're so cute! Sorry, cherry ChapStick. You've been replaced. Berger addresses the mannequins as "ladies," then asks how often Carrie shops here. Before Carrie can answer, a salesman approaches and shouts her name and kisses her on both cheeks. Wow, faux-exuberance at Prada. How rare. She introduces Berger and he gets the full European greeting too, taking a kiss on each cheek with a little trepidation. Hey, it's his first time. As the salesman hollers, "Hey, it's Carrie," another saleswoman asks if Berger would like anything -- water, cappuccino, champagne? "Champagne! Yes!" Oh yes. Now pop a shot of Pimm's in that bubbly and I'd never leave.
Sam and her boy toy Jerry finish up another fuckfest. She smacks his ass and watches as he pulls up his jeans sans underpants. Then she whips out her book and asks if she can pencil him in for Friday. He can't; he's in a play. "But it's TGI-fuck-day!" Oy. Can I hazard a guess that this is HUMP-day? What's Tuesday? Too-glad-to-be-getting-laid-day? Jerry hands her a flyer. "Full Moon" is, in his opinion, "a kick-ass play." And it's in Brooklyn. Sam not only hates the theater, she "[doesn't] do boroughs!" He offers her a deal. She comes to his play, and after, he'll "make her come and come and come in the bedroom." I don't think Sam could turn that offer down, do you?