Everyone has those traumatising moments in life. You know, those moments where you think to yourself “I’m going to remember this for the rest of my life” and it’s not for a good reason.

When I was little our house house burnt down and we nearly lost everything.

When I was eighteen I had my car slammed into by a truck at 80km/h.

Then, in late 2008 there was the excruciating pain that was Sex in the City, the movie.

Like any other guy I do stupid things for love. Pretending Valentines day is of some significance, eating at places I don’t really want to eat at or letting a girl drive us somewhere to feel important are just some of the many day to day things we do in the name of relationship harmony.

When I first heard about the Sex and the City movie I started preparing myself. Despite months of preparation from daily mental exercises, copious doseages of reality tv and convincing myself I could get through it, when the night finally came I still fell apart to pieces.

I don’t know why my then girlfriend at the time couldn’t go see it with some of her friends, in a way I think she was punishing me for Transformers but I’ll never quite know for sure.

As I sat there white knuckled, amidst giant groups of female losers hopelessly sold on the idea that there was hope even for ugly middle aged women, I could barely keep the tears back as two hours of male bashing rolled by and then anti-climatically ended in an abrupt 10 minute finale.

The movie spent so long making males look like morons that by the end no amount of reverse story telling was going to let us off the hook. Even if everyone did live happily ever after (except the red headed lesbian woman), the basic premise was guys are idiots-HEY LOOK A PAIR OF SHOES!

Meatloaf had it easy when he recorded ‘I’d do anything for love’, Sex and the City hadn’t been invented yet.

…and then there’s the horseface.

I don’t know how many times I’ve had this conversation with girls now but for some reason, whenever I mention my gross disgust at Sarah Jessica Parker’s face and cover up my gag reflexes they are absolutely puzzled.

As if a long droopy face, point chin, THAT HORRIBLE MOLE THING ON HER CHIN, squinty eyes, annoying hair and general lacking of attractiveness is something to aspire to. I mean you can whack ‘fashionable’ clothes onto a hideous frame but let’s not kid ourselves, it’s still a hideous frame.

I think the single largest point of disbelief I have with the whole Sex in the City universe is that the character Sarah Jessica Parker (I even hate her name) plays, Carrie, is presented as this desirable woman who has guys falling for her all over the place.

In what bloody parallel universe is this happening?! In the real world women as hideous as her die alone.

What’s more the writers gave her the job of being a sex columinst. WOMEN WHO LOOK LIKE THAT SHOULDN’T BE HAVING FREAKING SEX LET ALONE WRITING ABOUT IT!

I’m sitting there begging for the credits to start rolling, ugly women in the rows near us are gaining false senses of confidence and my penis is looking up at me asking when I became a sellout?

‘Sex in the City? This is what we’ve been reduced to? Really…?’

‘Man I hope you know what you’re doing because if I see that Sarah Jessica Parker person agai-oh god… there she i- you know what you’re on your own tonight. That’s it I’m gone.’

Later try explaining that the reason you can’t get it up in bed is because your penis walked out on you halfway through a movie and you honestly now have no idea where he is.

That was 2008 and well we’ve all moved on since. I’m a better man for it and I don’t talk about the experience with anyone. It was a dark few hours I’d rather soon forget ever happened.

Naturally this morning I was then horrified to read that a sequel is coming out.


Dear Women of Australia,

Please don’t make us guys sit through another nightmare. We’ll leave the seat down, let you drive our cars or hell, we’ll even learn to give birth – just please don’t expect us to sit through another two hours of theatrical castration.

Surely there’s enough females on this planet that guys don’t have to rock up to see this. Use internet chatrooms, social media sites, letterbox mailouts, jesus just ask randoms on the street to go and see it with you but please, please don’t drag us along kicking and screaming.

Once was enough.

Signed,

The Men of Australia.