Oh, god, yes, we get it: you’re Carrie Bradshaw. Third-world orphans who have never so much as watched television – nevermind HBO – get it. Does that mean one has to wear a garden on their melon? I don’t think so. But, hey, that’s just me and I’d be afraid a bird would dive-bomb me and I’d end up being graced with a Darwin Award. It also reminds me of something the crazy lady at the end of the block who still talks about when FDR was president and you could get a high ball for 75 cents would wear.

Or Sally Kirkland.

So, here’s Sarah Jessica at the London premiere of “Sex and the City.” We’re down to 17 days until the U.S. premiere and I’m back to ambivalence about it. First, I hated the idea. Then, I warmed to it which progressed to really wanting to see it. Now I’m back to meh. Meh isn’t good. Meh gets you nowhere. I actually want to get back to at least tepid. This may be achievable if I don’t have to see any commercials for the movie and hear SJP say “Hello, Lov-AH!” It’s the “hello, Lov-AH” that drives me nuts. Maybe if I focus on the other characters I can soldier through. Possibly.

Speaking of, the other ladies look lovely. But they don’t have the ghost of Carrie Bradshaw to answer to.