Silk Shirts and Colored Jeans

Watching "Sex and the City" is usually not good for me. I don't mean in the obvious way of being exposed to curse words and watching gratuitous sex scenes, I mean the way the show makes me feel about my life.

Every time I watch it, I become entranced by the witty (well, at least punny) dialogue and flashy wardrobe. I have a strange urge to go shopping and spend hundreds of dollars on things I don't need and never will wear like $500 purple crocodile slingback Manolo Blahniks. I want to go out to all of the fahn-tahs-tic restaurants in the Big City of Indianapolis. I want to quit my job and be a columnist like Carrie, typing away on my laptop computer in an oversized, yet sexy men's shirt while sipping on a martini.

All of those things make me realize that my life is very un-fabulous. Then, of course, comes the questions and comparing, the what-ifs and why-nots. Then, the inevitable downward spiral of my morale.

However, this past weekend sandwiched between my "Sex and the City" viewing marathon, I had a very un-Sex and the City-like moment, and it dawned on me that this is my life, and I still love it.

The "real" version is the four glamorous women sitting in the coffee shop, talking about the man problems in their life. Perfectly quaffed and accessorized, dressed in the latest designer creations... etc., etc.

My version was a little different. Six people, sitting in a living room, in their pajamas. Some laying down, some leaning over, some curled up. The topic of conversation, among many things, was about silk shirts and colored jeans ... we explained in detail how many of each we owned. Meanwhile, a hyperactive dog ran back and forth, back and forth, chasing a stuffed duck. I know it sounds odd, but it was such a great moment. Friends relaxed, hanging out on a beautiful Sunday morning. There was nothing forced or stressed about it.

After thinking of this moment, I resigned to the fact that this was my little "Sex and the City." Whatever it was that the show represented to me, I realized that I have always had it (in one weird way or another) The show is just that, a show. A fantastical creation in someone's imagination. It is filled with things mostly make-believe. My life is real and I like my real moments -- even if they are un-fabulous.