And I Couldn't Help But Wonder: What Did I Just Watch?

A raw recap of And Just Like That's series three opener - 42 minutes of television that stole a bit of my soul

Jun 06, 2025

The moment of Carrie Bradshaw’s communication breakthrough, and did someone say Alexander Graham Bell(End)

Warning! Contains spoilers, swearing, all-caps and description of a ‘sex’ scene that might haunt you forever

You know that thing when you pull the lever on a one-arm bandit but the wiring’s wonky and so the reels spin and spin and spin without stopping, a frenzied eternal looping of cherries and citrus fruit? That’s pretty much what I reckon Big’s corpse has been doing since series two of And Just Like That - each new crime committed against his memory adding another thousand years of spinning in his grave.

A crime like, say, your wife using a big old chunk of your money (that’s now hers because you’re dead) to buy a (Mr) Big old Gramercy Park townhouse to please her new-old boyfriend after he refused to step inside her old-old apartment because she once had sex with you in it behind his back (okay, more than once). A townhouse he’s also since pledged to not step foot inside, along with the rest of Manhattan, for five whole years because *something about parenting his teenage son in Virginia* means he’s not just banned (himself) from seeing your wife, but also from speaking to her. It’s almost like he’s still punishing her for those crimes of yesteryear and hey, HOW’S YOUR DEFECATING DOG, AIDAN? HOW’S SHAYNA FROM THE BAR?

Anyway, where was I…turn that frown upside down, John James Preston! Your wife would totally, absolutely feel sad about you being dead (occasionally), but she’s frankly too busy mourning her Not Big But Gigantic Baby of a (living, breathing) boyfriend.

Ding-ding-ding-not-jackpot! That’ll be another twenty-five thousand years of spinning for you, JJP!

While Big spins (and spins), Carrie - who’s still sharing space with that cat she called Shoe (as if she wouldn’t have killed it like that plant in series four of the original TV show after Aidan moved in) - sits preparing to write a postcard. Only You by Yazoo plays (this show can only dream of the emotional heft of that Tim and Dawn moment in The Office, or the emotional heft of Alison Moyet just breathing), its lyrics here breaking down Carrie’s situation with all the subtlety of, I don’t know, a 50-something female character who lives alone getting a cat. And now, emotional stakes established, Carrie takes a pen and with the smug flourish of a woman who’s just worked out the exact nature of consciousness draws…a love heart.

“Came back only yesterday/Moving farther away/Want you near m-”

WAIT.

*Record scratch*.

Hang on.

Is that postcard really, truly-to-god, addressed to: “Aidan Shaw, 139 Handsome Pond Road”? One hundred and thirty-nine Handsome Pond Road?!

This exhausting intro - in which you’ll have gleaned nowt happens really - finally ends after eight and a half years (or one minute and twenty-nine seconds) when Carrie sets a Definitely Not Metaphorical alarm for her Big old house. And she’s off! Trotting down her Manhattan street as Hot to Go strikes up with a, “Five, six! Five, six, seven, eight!”. Chappell Roan tasked with transitioning us to a lesbian bar or as Still Not the Real Miranda calls it: “a lady bar”.

Cruising for chicks didn’t go so well last time, she says. She talked to no ladies and ran up a $37 mocktail bill - oh yes, she’s an alcoholic, one who fixed herself after ordering a book off Amazon! - so this time, Still Not the Real Miranda has brought Charlotte and Carrie along. Sadly, but inevitably, her cruising-crisis gets all of three minutes’ attention before we get into Carrie’s love-life. Sorry, “love” “life”.

She tells them about the postcards. A turn-your-own-skin-inside out ritual that began when she despatched vintage postcards of New York to the Not Big But Gigantic Baby boyfriend (Aidan) “just to let him know that I’m here, and I love him”. He in turn, began sending back blank postcards from Virgina. Charlotte, eyes so wide crop circle experts were summoned, claims it’s both sweet and “better than nothing!”. And, well, IS IT THOUGH? He’s refusing to write to, or be written to by, his girlfriend THE WRITER (not that she appears to give two-shits about writing anymore, now - in a very Charlotte season four move - deciding to…decorate). The writer he wants to be his girlfriend but have nowt to do with for five whole years. And Carrie? Well, she proudly says (with the self-awareness of, well, Carrie Bradshaw) that “Aidan asked for no communication while he deals with this family stuff. I’m giving it to him”. HOW, BY COMMUNICATING WITH HIM AGAINST HIS WILL? I’m not sure which one of these two toxic nightmares draped in skin is worse. Mr Big, be grateful for that grave of yours. Spin, baby, spin!

It’s okay though, here come her friends with some tough love and reason. Or they would if Charlotte wasn’t out roaming with the croppies, and Miranda wasn’t Still Not The Real Miranda, saying things like, “As long as it’s working for you” with the kind of smile you get when they sedate you for a colonoscopy. (Anyone else miss the “every time you get near him you become this pathetic, needy, insecure victim” Miranda? The one that caused Carrie to howl, “My god, Miranda, you are SO judgemental!” right there in a thrift shop? Yes, yes she was! Bring her back! Dig her up from whatever grave you’ve buried her in, too!).

Still Not The Real Miranda soon has bigger things on her, erm, mind though when, after mistaking Brady’s old babysitter for a hot young woman who’s into her, she ends up copping off with…Rosie O’Donnell! Yes, yes, they say she’s a virgin nun called Mary from a small town outside of Winnipeg, but more to the point: she’s Rosie O’Donnell! The joy of lesbians the world over at this once-never-possible pairing in the sack was real and earned. Fair fucks, Sister Mary (no pun intended). One “you’re so pretty” and “I have a hotel room” later and Still Not The Real Miranda is waking up next to you looking like the cat that got the cream/escaped from Carrie’s apartment.

Not having quite so much luck between the sheets: Seema, who is waiting - ciggie in hand, body in flammable lingerie - to have late-night zoom-sex with director Ravi, but promptly sets her apartment on fir- and GOD, I’M BORED. This is the first of two narrative cul-de-sacs in quick succession. Let’s deal with this one first. Ravi soon arrives, bearing flowers while the men delivering her new presumably flame-retardant bed say, “This is like a movie or some shit” (you know, like working-class men do). And, guys, it really is like a movie! Knowingly so. He - spoiler and jumping ahead - messes Seema about, dragging her around New York in a recee van when they should be on their date (a recce van that anyone in film and TV would happily slaughter a line producer for), so she sacks him off in the most camp, mortifying set of scenes (a real line, “This pier is the end of your movie, and it’s the end of ours”). Though not before Carrie murmurs, “Isn’t it kind of sweet he wanted to share his work with you?” (Ladies, who said individualism & capitalism is the death of feminism!).

But even that has propulsion of storytelling compared to *tries to read my notes written in blood* a screaming woman with a dog in a stroller falsely accusing Charlotte’s dog, Mr Burton, of assault (I did enjoy Rose’s, “Believe women, mom!” jab). A sub sub-plot made only more stupid when later it’s run directly alongside Lisa trying to get her PBS documentary on unsung Black women made (with integrity and without selling out). My lord, this show is going to have to reckon with the fact that LTW is accomplished and driven and cool as fuck and simply would not be mates with Charlotte. Or, maybe they’ll just one day do what they did with Nya (unrealistic friend of Still Not The Real Miranda) and - after Karen Pittman couldn’t return for the new series - simply never mentioned her again (in the opening episode at least).

If all that shouting leaves you a bit parched, take a walk and have a lolly with Seema and Carrie and Carrie’s ridiculous fucking hat (hey, if you ever wondered what a super-size vagina sculpted from Super Gran’s hat would look like…). It’s a very old-school Carrie and Samantha walk - apart from Seema, having begun AJLT as a formidable woman, is now a needy, simpering girlfriend (and this isn’t necessary for vulnerability. Samantha had it, but her core never changed). “I kind of demanded that he fly to New York to see me,” she says of Ravi. “I need proof that he loves me. What must it be like not to need that? You. I’m asking you. What is it like?”

Yes, she’s really asking Carrie, QUEEN OF NEED (hello, she binned Big when they were due to go off on their holidays because he wouldn’t say she was The One after six months together). And Carrie replies - like Yoda minus the wisdom and truth - “Seema, Aidan and I have been in each other’s lives for a very, very long time,” (well, technically you went out for a bit (twice), bumped into each other (twice), but otherwise had literally nowt to do with each other for two decades because you had a husband and he had a wife and kids, but do carry on, Carrie). “I mean, we know how we feel about one another now, but trust me, there was a time…”. Er, a time like five minutes ago? All those years when you said he “just wasn’t Big enough.” You can fool these newbies, Carrie! You can’t fool me! “I wish I’d known you then because this girl...” says Seema and BABY CAKES, SHE’S LYING.

And soon, as karma would have it, Carrie’s actually lying - flat on her back. The Not Metaphorical alarm is going off and running to stop it, while telling the alarm guys on the phone that her identifying code is “Carrie and Aidan” (UGH), she slips and falls, unable to get up. And who does she call to rescue her? Miranda! YES, YES, EXACTLY LIKE MIRANDA DID IN SERIES FOUR. Now, given the writers previously forgot that Harry’s mum had died, I’m not sure if this is a deliberate call-back, but my god, I squealed. Because I’m taking it as a call-back all the same. To the memorable episode where, newly-back together, Aidan is punishing Carrie - HOW’S YOUR DEFECATING DOG, AIDAN? HOW’S SHAYNA AT THE BAR? - for boning Big. But when Miranda puts her neck/back out post-shower, and calls Carrie for help, Carrie being, you know, Carrie, sends Aidan to pick up her mate who’s lying sparko and stark-bollock-naked on the bathroom floor.

This time, Carrie listens to Miranda’s tangled romantic life, chipping in with helpful banter like, “You deflowered the Virgin Mary!”, before mocking Mary for being a tourist and wanting to meet at Tavern on the Green (this is a woman who post Big divorcing Natasha arranged to meet him - prompting Miranda to be so beautifully judgemental - at THE CENTRAL PARK BOATHOUSE).

Carrie being-a-bit-of-a-dick only increases when she takes Lily to see a boy she likes rehearse for a ballet performance (while Charlotte tries to find doggy daycare for her dog and a man says no through the medium of funny noises and lord, give me strength). Anthony and his boyfriend have come along too and when he questions how long the Gigantic Baby will be away for she says, “I don’t know” and pulls a face like HIS dog has shit all over her.

“How are you gonna be in a relationship if you don’t even know when he’s coming back?” asks Anthony like a perfectly normal human being and real friend. “And if he has family problems, that’s his problem. That has nothing to do with you. And what are you supposed to do? Sit in that big castle and wait? Who are you? Friggin’ Rapunzel”.

Never mind ballet boy, let’s give him a standing ovation! Oh, apart from…

“You know what I like about ballet?” Carrie sneers. “No words.”.

YOU’RE A FUCKING WRITER, MATE.

This is the least of her/our problems, though. And now, what follows is something I must apologise for. Something I never wanted to write, always hoped I’d never have to. But in the spirit of openness and transparency, I must describe the following scene in its totality.

Ready? Then I’ll begin.

Aidan rings - rings! Lucky Carrie! - from his truck that’s parked in a field behind his house. And - lucky Carrie part 2! - he’s had three beers. He can’t have them in the house, he says. “Why?” asks Carrie. “Don’t you mean Why-att,” says Aidan. Which Carrie calls a joke even when, upon asking how his son that crashed a car at 14 high on ‘shrooms and beer is, Aidan says, “I don’t wanna waste this buzz on him.”

I’m sorry, sir? You don’t want to waste your three-beer, country-bumpkin buzz on your SON?

“I ache for you,” he says. “Can men ache?” she asks.

Oh, OK. Now I feel bad. Maybe he did call for a bit of emotional intimacy. So tortured by their time apart (just like when Big emailed those love letters of great writers every day after the wedding fiasco. The “ever mine, ever thine, ever ours”). What’s he going to say nex-

“Well, this man can. And does. No shit.”

Did he say no shi-

“I ache.”

OK. We hear you, man. Now, what is happening to your jaw? Are you…gurning?

“If I was there right now…I’d be touching you the way you like. You remember how you like me to touch you?”

Well, I remember those phone sex days with Big (also, coincidentally, when she’d just started dating Aidan) when he was in a hot tub in Napa, chomping on a cigar. Come on then, Aidan, redeem yourself. After all, you were the man who upon meeting, Carrie said was “warm, masculine, and classic American…”

“Touch yourself.”

I mean, it’s not quite Ralph Lauren/Polo Classic but…

“Go ahead. Be me.”

OK, look, I’ve tried to look past the sitting in a pick-up truck sucking on a 12-pack thing but Carrie: DON’T YOU DARE. My skin has crawled right off my bones and there’s no way on god’s green earth you’re still wearing yours.

Oh, thank Christ! We’re saved. Aidan knees the horn when trying to, you know, unleash the, you know.

“I think I may have shit my pants a little,” he says as Carrie laughs and the rest of us wonder where the fuck the Pied Piper is when you need him to dance us all off the nearest cliff.

“No, no, no, hey don’t break it,” he says. I’m sorry, break what? Our collective gag reflex? Our ability to ever desire another human being? “Don’t break the mood.” The mood? The mood of you shitting your pants?

“That’s so fucking hot,” he breathes like a dog with heatstroke even though we’re not sure what ‘that’ is.

“Come on. We can get back there,” he begs. “Can we?” laughs Carrie in a truly heroic effort not to put the phone down and set her house on fire while she’s still inside it.

“Yeah, come on, I need…I need this so fucking much,” he says before…before…oh god, no, stop it. Stop it! Bad Gigantic Baby! STOP IT RIGHT NOW! Oh, but he won’t, and now he can’t, because he’s doing it! HE’S LICKING HIS ENTIRE PALM BEFORE SLIDING IT DOWN THE FRONT OF HIS HIS TIGHTY WHITIES LIKE A BAD, BAD MAN WATCHING PORN OR A DOG CLEANING SHIT OFF ITSELF.

A dog that, with very little in the way of reciprocation from Carrie begins shouting, “Here it fucking comesss! Fuck!”.

Do men do that?

Do dogs?

Anyway.

Well.

That’s that.

It’s not so much that this scene has put me off ever having sex again. But more like I no longer see the point in television shows, men, the English language, or hands.

Later, Carrie confesses to her friends that she faked it on the phone, saying, ‘Aidan and mine’s sex life is the most honest thing about us.” Are we to assume we’re NOT talking about when your shagged someone els-

Ok, fine! Touchy!

But the episode isn’t done without Carrie’s dick-ness putting in a repeat performance. When Anthony, head bowed, comes over at a dinner for Lisa’s husband Herbert and says, “I should never have said any of what I said”.

ER, YES YOU SHOULD, ANTHONY.

“Please don’t cut me out,” he pleads. “It took me so long to get in”. And, well, now maybe the writers are onto something. Because it’s almost like Carrie Bradshaw is…toxic. Run away, Anthony! Take the cat! You can both live in that ridiculous fucking hat!

The episode ends with Still Not The Real Miranda in Times Square telling Mary (in a Wicked t-shirt) not to leave God for her (er, she wasn’t). And Carrie admitting she faked phone sex (because apparently saying “um” counts as an orgasm in Virginia). Then, the Not Metaphorical alarm goes off. And Carrie, after trying to have phone sex with Aidan while he’s sleeping next to his son (hanging up mortified, no return call to soothe her), finds herself unable to sleep.

So, she finally does the thing she always did before. You know, back when Carrie Bradshaw had interests beyond blank postcards and owning big houses, when she had…character. She opens her laptop, and writes.

“The woman wondered what she had gotten herself into”.

And so say all of us.