Disclaimer: I do not own "Sex and the City" or any of the characters
described herein.
(Carrie's musings) Why is that no matter where a man is or what a man's doing, he can immediately engage his mind in thoughts of sex, as if it were a pot of water fueled by a libido that can take his pulse from simmer to boil in no time flat. History tells us that there are three types of men: the slow cookers, who really think and act more like women, relying on feelings and words to ignite hidden passions; the mid-rangers, those loveable lugs who heat up rather nicely only after a strong, steady flame is applied; and, lastly, the worst of the lot -- the hard boilers, who -- let us just say -- often come to a boil with the mere suggestion of a flame.
Circuit Court Judge Roy Hobbs was just such a hard-boiler as Samantha was soon to discover.
SAMANTHA
Oh my, this looks more like a sweat shop than a courtroom. Look at all of these hot men.
MIRANDA
Easy now Tigress - this is serious. I here the judge that sits in this court likes to play hard ball. And you, a new driver, can't afford this stain on your record.
SAMANTHA (pointing up at the picture high above the court of the presiding judge, Hobbs) Ooo-la la, my dear. Get a look at Judge Cutie Pie up there. He can play hard ball with me any day. And why is it that the first time I get behind the wheel of a car I get pulled over for such a little thing as a 'no turn on red'. If only that traffic cop had been male.
MIRANDA
If only you'd been keeping your eye on the road instead of on the hunk on that billboard in the skies above Times Square. Samantha, If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times - that sex drive of yours is going to get you into some real trouble one of these days.
SAMANTHA
Hey, I used to fuck that hunk. And besides, sweetie, you need to relax a little. It's that kind of puritanical attitude that sent innocent women to a fiery death in the Salem Witch Trials.
MIRANDA
Puritanical? Try practical. And just when did Practical living get to be so unpopular? If you had your way, Samantha, I'd be locked away in a nunnery, living a life of celibacy.
Samantha raised her eyebrows, darting her tongue out at Miranda in that jocular little gesture of hers that says "I adore you but you're striking a nerve my dear" The court bailiff then entered the room, followed closely by the judge and his entourage. Thirty-six-year-old Hobbs was a tall brunette with brown eyes and a sexy-authoritarian-smile that left no question as to whom was in charge - in this or most any other situation. Samantha's eyes quickly fixated on the judge as he moved across the room, as did Miranda's and the eyes of half the courtroom's occupants, regardless of their sex or sexual orientation.
"All rise," the bailiff instructed the crowd.
"I'd like to get a rise out of that one," Samantha whispered to Miranda as she continued to stare at Hobbs. Miranda rolled her eyes but had to admit to herself that the judge was indeed a hot one. So intense was the power of Samantha's gaze that she lost focus of the task at hand and site of the fact that she had chosen this morning to wear the more daring diamond- studded leather pumps, the ones with the 5-inch heel, rather than the more moderate and what Miranda insisted -- more appropriate -- loafer. Down she went with a clamor into the unsuspecting middle-aged man in the seat before her.
"Order, order in the court," Hobbs bellowed into the crowd, hammering his gavel with force. He scanned the area of the commotion and spotted the flame. "Bailiff, please escort the woman in the fiery red dress to my chambers."
"Mission accomplished," a befuddled, but rather accomplished Samantha said as an aside to Miranda.. "Mission accomplished."
Meanwhile, over on Park Avenue, Charlotte and Harry were engaged in a commotion of their own..(Chapter 2).
(Carrie's musings) Why is that no matter where a man is or what a man's doing, he can immediately engage his mind in thoughts of sex, as if it were a pot of water fueled by a libido that can take his pulse from simmer to boil in no time flat. History tells us that there are three types of men: the slow cookers, who really think and act more like women, relying on feelings and words to ignite hidden passions; the mid-rangers, those loveable lugs who heat up rather nicely only after a strong, steady flame is applied; and, lastly, the worst of the lot -- the hard boilers, who -- let us just say -- often come to a boil with the mere suggestion of a flame.
Circuit Court Judge Roy Hobbs was just such a hard-boiler as Samantha was soon to discover.
SAMANTHA
Oh my, this looks more like a sweat shop than a courtroom. Look at all of these hot men.
MIRANDA
Easy now Tigress - this is serious. I here the judge that sits in this court likes to play hard ball. And you, a new driver, can't afford this stain on your record.
SAMANTHA (pointing up at the picture high above the court of the presiding judge, Hobbs) Ooo-la la, my dear. Get a look at Judge Cutie Pie up there. He can play hard ball with me any day. And why is it that the first time I get behind the wheel of a car I get pulled over for such a little thing as a 'no turn on red'. If only that traffic cop had been male.
MIRANDA
If only you'd been keeping your eye on the road instead of on the hunk on that billboard in the skies above Times Square. Samantha, If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times - that sex drive of yours is going to get you into some real trouble one of these days.
SAMANTHA
Hey, I used to fuck that hunk. And besides, sweetie, you need to relax a little. It's that kind of puritanical attitude that sent innocent women to a fiery death in the Salem Witch Trials.
MIRANDA
Puritanical? Try practical. And just when did Practical living get to be so unpopular? If you had your way, Samantha, I'd be locked away in a nunnery, living a life of celibacy.
Samantha raised her eyebrows, darting her tongue out at Miranda in that jocular little gesture of hers that says "I adore you but you're striking a nerve my dear" The court bailiff then entered the room, followed closely by the judge and his entourage. Thirty-six-year-old Hobbs was a tall brunette with brown eyes and a sexy-authoritarian-smile that left no question as to whom was in charge - in this or most any other situation. Samantha's eyes quickly fixated on the judge as he moved across the room, as did Miranda's and the eyes of half the courtroom's occupants, regardless of their sex or sexual orientation.
"All rise," the bailiff instructed the crowd.
"I'd like to get a rise out of that one," Samantha whispered to Miranda as she continued to stare at Hobbs. Miranda rolled her eyes but had to admit to herself that the judge was indeed a hot one. So intense was the power of Samantha's gaze that she lost focus of the task at hand and site of the fact that she had chosen this morning to wear the more daring diamond- studded leather pumps, the ones with the 5-inch heel, rather than the more moderate and what Miranda insisted -- more appropriate -- loafer. Down she went with a clamor into the unsuspecting middle-aged man in the seat before her.
"Order, order in the court," Hobbs bellowed into the crowd, hammering his gavel with force. He scanned the area of the commotion and spotted the flame. "Bailiff, please escort the woman in the fiery red dress to my chambers."
"Mission accomplished," a befuddled, but rather accomplished Samantha said as an aside to Miranda.. "Mission accomplished."
Meanwhile, over on Park Avenue, Charlotte and Harry were engaged in a commotion of their own..(Chapter 2).