This week, "And Just Like That…" delivers a heart-stopping spectacle of horror! Turning on this show is akin to opening a Pandora's box—you never quite know what chilling surprises await you. And this week, the frights are numerous and grotesque: a towering man sobbing uncontrollably in his vehicle, the bizarre Stanford-turned-monk plot twist, and stand-up comedy (no adjectives needed; it's just plain, unadulterated stand-up comedy). What did we anticipate when they conjured the ghost of Skipper Johnston? Terrible events were inevitable! Shield your eyes if you dare, or embrace the unpredictable thrill ride that is "AJLT." After all, you only live once, right?
For some time now, "AJLT" has been setting the stage for Aidan's son Wyatt to emerge as the formidable hurdle blocking Carrie and Aidan's fairy tale ending. So, while his emergence as an obstacle isn't much of a shock, the timing couldn't be worse. It seems Carrie's relocation from her iconic brownstone is imminent—she sold the place at a steal to Lisette, much to Seema's chagrin, in a show of solidarity as a single woman. The transition to her Gramercy Park abode is progressing swiftly. There are even plans afoot for a Last Supper at the old brownstone before Carrie officially bids it adieu. At this juncture, it genuinely appears there's no turning back. Furthermore, Carrie and Aidan's relationship is flourishing like never before. He's even acknowledged several instances where he was a complete jerk during their "Sex and the City" days. Cue the "The Princess Diaries" anthem because, folks, sometimes miracles do happen.
Just as Aidan endeavors to make amends for his past mistreatment of Carrie, Cathy's call shatters the peace: Wyatt is hospitalized, and he needs to return to Virginia. Later, from the hospital parking lot, he updates Carrie: the 14-year-old got into a scrap with his mom, fled to Aidan's farm 30 miles away, got sloshed, and crashed Aidan's truck into a tree, breaking his leg, his collarbone, and totaling the vehicle. He longed for his dad, but his dad wasn't there. Aidan is utterly devastated. Seeing a man deeply devoted to his children is heartening, but his breakdown left even me, a woman who adores watching men weep in public, feeling uneasy. It was overwhelming! While Carrie strives to be supportive from afar, she realizes this incident could jeopardize her future with Aidan. A man sobbing so hard and consumed by guilt will undoubtedly reorder his priorities.
The silver lining is that nearly everyone is miserable this week, except for Charlotte, who enjoys a night on the town with her new gallery cronies. Perhaps that could be seen as bleak news if you possess a soul. But for those of you here to revel in others' chaos alongside me, let's discuss Miranda! Miranda is thriving professionally. Her stint filling in for her boss during maternity leave seems to be going swimmingly, and when Reina returns, Miranda seemingly makes a lasting impression on some UN bigwigs they met. However, personally, things aren't peachy. After Nya calls out Miranda for cutting off her exes post-breakup (Nya isn't judging; she's inspired) and Carrie remarks on how bonkers it is that Miranda knows zilch about Steve's new hot dogs & clams stand/bar/restaurant/whatever on Coney Island's boardwalk, Miranda seeks change. She doesn't want to be the person who ghosts everyone. She certainly doesn't want to treat others like she did Skipper Johnston. (Though let's not forget Skipper was also Carrie's friend, so technically, she dumped Skipper too. Skipper should definitely pop up somewhere in the background of this show sometime. He haunts us all!)
It's the guilt that weighs heavily on Miranda's heart, coupled with a yearning to be a better former lover, that prompts her to attend Che's first stand-up show since their pilot was canned, alongside Carrie and Aidan. Miranda keeps her plans a secret from Che, a decision that proves to be a colossal blunder. Throughout his set, Che mercilessly lampoons Miranda and their past relationship, creating an excruciatingly awkward atmosphere for everyone present – Miranda, Carrie, Aidan, and even me.
Unable to endure the onslaught any longer, Miranda makes a merciful exit. Che notices her departure and becomes flustered, abruptly ending his set and chasing after her. Despite being accustomed to hearing "Not funny!" shouted from the streets, Che is particularly rattled when Miranda utters those words. When she tries to articulate her profound hurt and embarrassment, Che justifies his actions by claiming it's all part of being a stand-up comedian. But even I, no expert by any means, can discern that the essence of stand-up comedy lies in telling jokes, something conspicuously absent from Che's routine.
Granted, Che was unaware of Miranda's presence, but he knew Carrie would be there. Wouldn't he anticipate that Carrie might have an issue with his material? Or at least inform Miranda beforehand? Che gripes about having to constantly censor himself to appease others, yet acknowledges that his "jokes" were cruel. Che, who has never been known for malice, seems to be struggling with his identity. And if Che can't muster even one humorous anecdote about their eight-month tumultuous journey with Miranda – the strap-on escapade, the threesome involving Oliver Hudson's forgotten husband – then he has far greater issues than merely offending an ex. Regardless, Che strides off into the night with Toby, the object of his flirtations at the animal clinic, appearing more empowered than ever.
Miranda, still hurt but reminded of her importance by Carrie, agrees to attend Carrie's Last Supper. The audacity of Carrie Bradshaw! Steve will also be present, promising a tragic spectacle that I'm already dreading.
Speaking of tragic spectacles, Stanford has apparently found solace in Shintoism and now serves as a monk in Kyoto. Carrie and Anthony are moved to tears as Carrie reads Stanford's letter detailing his journey to finding peace and letting go of material possessions. They toast to their dear friend, Stanny, and Anthony is inspired to reconsider his rigid beliefs about roles within their gay relationship. In other words, Stanford's transformation helps Anthony realize that he doesn't always need to be the dominant partner and should occasionally allow Guiseppe to take the lead. Carrie has thoughtfully prepared cosmos in advance, signifying the gravity of the moment. There were countless other ways to bid farewell to this character and pay tribute to Willie Garson, but we're left with the image of a Shinto monk. The picture alone is baffling, making me wonder if I'm living in some real-life version of "The Truman Show." If that's the case, please message me privately because this charade has gone on far too long and is making me incredibly self-conscious. If not, then cheers to Stanny; may your journey be filled with peace and contentment, whatever time of day it may be.
