All language subtitles for Sex And The City S6E14 - The Ick Factor [RavyDavy]

Subtitles - Ripped (and Hacked)
by RavyDavy - Part of the [RL] Crew

In autumn, New Yorkers treat
every nice day...

as if it could be their last.

I'll have another if you will.
What do you say?

You're a bad influence.

I waited and waited.

You said to meet you at the subway.

I was at the subway.
I was at the foot of the stairs.

You was at the subway?
You was in the subway.

You don't know how to give directions...

- That's gonna be us in 30 years.
- Please don't say that.

I'm kidding, that could never be us.

That already was us, remember?

But that was then.

So for the future,
I don't want to become that.

I don't want you to worry
about becoming that.

Okay, I won't.

- Anything else we don't want?
- Yeah.

I don't want you paying for these beers.

I'm serious.

Your turn.

Okay.

I don't want to become your mother.

That's a good one.

I don't want to slack off like I used to.

I don't want to be so moody. This is fun.

I don't want to lose you again.

Even if I screw up all the other stuff,
that's the one that matters.

I don't want to lose you either.

Will you marry me?

Are you serious?

Yes.

Will you?

Hell, yeah!

Some couples have to say their "I don't's"...

before they can ever imagine
saying their "I do's."

Eighy blocks and a world away...

I was enjoying
a different kind of happy hour.

At Aleksandr Petrovsky's.

That's pretty. What is that?

This little tune I have made up for you.

What?

- No, you didn't.
- Yes, I did.

Which means
woman with luminous, shining...

sparkling eyes.

That is the cheesiest thing
I have ever heard in my life.

Ick.

I know. I can't even look at you all,
I'm so embarrassed.

It all sounds very old-world to me.

Very 18th century Russia.

And I live in New York City, circa now.

I think it's romantic
if someone offers me a seat on the subway.

That is romantic.

We are just starved for real romance,
and that is the sad truth.

I'm not starved.
Smith is in L.A. For the week...

and he calls me every night
before he goes to sleep.

Phone sex doesn't count.

I'm drinking a glass of wine while we do it.

I want to hear more about the romance.
What else did he do?

There was one more thing.

But if I tell you,
it'll be the "Ick" heard around the world.

It will not.

You know the song he wrote for me?

Yeah, ick.

It had a name.

The woman with eyes that...

Sparkle.

- What's French for "Ick"?
- "Eek."

And I swear, while he was playing it,
I floated up out of my body...

and I was on the ceiling,
looking down at myself, thinking:

"Come on."

He was just expressing genuine emotion
in an old-fashioned way.

But it's not genuine, it's pure show.

I can't stand all that artificial hoo-hah.

That's why I proposed to Steve
over $3 beers.

You proposed?

You proposed marriage?

Okay. Everybody, stop.

It's not a big deal, I am not engaged...

I'm not doing the big circus wedding.

There will be no white dress or bridesmaids,
or posed pictures.

I hate all that shit.

That's your choice.
Every bride has to find her own style.

When is it gonna be?

As soon as I find some place
that doesn't make me hurl.

It's just going to be a simple, nothing thing.
I don't even care about the wedding.

I just want to be with Steve.

This is exactly what I don't want.

No tears.

Oh, my God.

I can't believe it.

That's it, you're all freaking me out.

Samantha, I expected more from you.

He just felt inspired to write her a song...

and then he played it for her.

Isn't that the most romantic thing
you've ever heard?

Not bad.
I used to play clarinet when I was little.

This is so good, you have to have some.

Doesn't that taste like real butter pecan?

If that's what we're playing, sure.

I can pretend this whipped flavored air
is the real thing.

It's like something out of a Victorian novel.
People just don't do those things anymore.

I can be romantic, too, you know.

Honey, I know you can.

I think it's romantic that you walk me
to Tasti D-Lite every night.

Don't humor me.

I know how to do romance right.
It's not just for foo-foo foreigners.

In fact, I am gonna take you out
for a real romantic night on the town.

Wining and dining, baby.

- Really?
- You bet.

Let me get another lick of that.

I don't want to make a big entrance.
I don't want everyone staring at me.

And from licking to lugging...

I just want it to feel like us.

Not like one of those millions
of cookie-cutter weddings...

I've had to suffer through.

How do we do that?

What about one of those boat rides
that goes around the Island?

- That's different.
- We're not boat people.

When have we ever been
on a boat together, ever?

Okay. You got a better idea?

Shit.

This is so us, we are pathetic.

This gum is like Superglue. Look at this.

You see?
We're bag people, not boat people.

We should get married right here,
in this mess.

We're going to have to,
if I can't get this gum off.

That's a nice garden.

Yeah, it's pretty.

But not corny.

What do you think?

I don't hate it.

The only thing harder than choosing a spot
for your wedding...

when you hate weddings...

What about a guest book?

...is choosing a wedding gift
for your friend who hates weddings.

There's going to be eight of us there.
There's no one to keep track of.

I can't believe Miranda is getting married.

- This is pretty.
- She'll hate that, too domestic.

And too bridey.

Let's try not to piss her off.

Maybe we should just buy her a stapler...

wrap it in brown paper,
and just smear some dog poo on it.

Think she'd be comfortable with that?

Fine, we'll get the dish.

Ladies, I have something to tell you...

and you're not going to like it.

If you get married and leave me all alone,
I will kill you.

As you know, I have always loved my body
just the way it is.

My legs are fantastic, I have killer abs...

my ass is perfection...

Is this the part we're not gonna like?

But I have decided,
after careful consideration...

that I might be ready for bigger boobs.

Since when?

Since I had a cold, hard dose of reality...

from this. Look.

You're in In Touch magazine?

- And that's your source of reality?
- Yes.

They named Smith Jerrod
the number one hot guy to watch.

They followed him all over town for a week.
I'm in half the pictures.

There are my boobs on Wednesday.

See how small they are?

There they are again on Thursday.

Teeny-tiny.

And there they are having lunch.
You can barely see them.

I should've brought my Loupe.

I can't believe you would actually consider
having a boob job.

I can't believe
you went to Planet Hollywood.

You are a confident, intelligent woman.
Why would you want to look like a bimbo?

I wouldn't be getting
the watermelon freakshow kind.

I'd get something tasteful, something like...

yours.

Yours are good.

Mine?

- What's wrong with mine?
- They're not bad, either.

Let's see.

Okay, all right. Get hers.

No.

A few days later, the rain came.

Listen, you will like this poem.

Poem?

And so did the poetry.

"So long had life together been

"that once the snow began to fall

"it seemed unending

"that, lest the flakes should make
her eyelids wince

"I'd shield them with my hand

"and they, pretending not to believe
the cherishing of eyes

"would beat against my palm
like butterflies"

That is some serious stuff.

Had enough, huh?

No, it's beautiful.

How about I read you
a little bit of my favorite poetry?

Please.

"Cocktails at Tiffany's
calls for classic charm.

"Oscar de la Renta sleeveless silk faille...

"full-skirted dress...

"with black patent leather bow-belt."

Now, that is pure poetry.

Oscar is a good friend of mine.
I'll tell him you like the dress.

Oscar?

You call him "Oscar"?

It's his name, isn't it?

So, you feel uncomfortable with poetry.

Why is that?

I'm sorry.

Perhaps we were not properly introduced.

I write a column based on the assumption...

that romance is either dead or just...

phony.

- You think I'm phony?
- No, not at all.

I'm the one that feels like a phony.

Frankly, I'm just not used to...

these grand gestures.

You mean, no other man, no one ever...

read you a little poem...

or played a little music for you?

No, they have not.

Okay.

I'm in over my head. Where are you?

Shopping for a wedding dress
on my lunch hour.

I said no white, no ivory.

Nothing that says virgin.

I have a child. The jig is up.

Yesterday...

the Russian read me a Russian poem,
but in English.

Are you just making this stuff up now?

No, and this might sound crazy...

but I don't think it's an act.

I think he actually means it.

That doesn't make it okay.

Has he considered your feelings?

You're right, he's a selfish pig.

I'm serious.

I think you should tell him
that this whole romance thing...

gives you the icks, turns your stomach,
and that he's dating you...

- not Anna Karenina.
- I'll tell him that.

I can't tell him that.

Let me ask you something.

If you're so anti-romance,
why are you having a wedding at all?

Why not just go down to City Hall
and get it over with?

I thought about that...

but then I realized I actually do want
to say those vows out loud...

to Steve, in front of the people I care about.

Are you gagging over there?

No, the opposite.

My God, Miranda.

You were my cynical touchstone.

Do you promise to still be cynical
even after you're married?

I do.

I have got to go,
there's a big pile of tutus coming at me.

Okay, we need to have another talk.

One of the great things about living
in New York City...

is that you don't have to sugarcoat
your feelings.

But have New York women settled
for a sugar-free existence as well?

We accept Tasti D-Lite
instead of real ice cream.

Emails instead of love songs,
jokes instead of poetry.

It's no wonder that when faced
with the real thing...

we can't stomach it.

Is it something we could learn to digest...

or have we become romance-intolerant?

Et puis, for the troisi�me course...

we would like the fois gras...

followed by the boeuf bourguignon
avec les legumes � la cr�me.

It was Harry's version of a serenade,
and Charlotte ate it right up.

Et en fin, the plat du fromage.

The plate or the cart?
We have a lovely cheese cart.

Mais oui! Bring us the cart.

Tout de suite, for my sweetie.

I had no idea
you could speak French so well, honey.

The French learned romance from me, baby.

Downtown, in the name
of boob job research...

Samantha decided to go
where the biggest crop would be on display.

Some were little boobs.

- That's okay.
- Not so bad.

Some were big boobs.

Some were ridiculously big boobs.

Oh, boy.

Okay. That's my wife, right there.

And then there were
the two biggest boobs of all...

right beside her.

Can I get you something?

You either have the most naturally
beautiful breasts I've ever seen...

or I need the name of your doctor.

You want Dr. Bevel. He's the best.

They paid for themselves in tips alone.

Meanwhile, back in the 18th century...

I'm sorry. Is this a formal sleep over?

There's an opening at the Met tonight.

It's La Traviata, and you're going with me.

Man, I was this close
to throwing out my ballgown...

but I ignored my instincts.

- All right, I'll go home and change.
- No, this'll be much faster.

Come on.

Come on, open it.

Tonight, only your poetry, not mine.

From the magazine. You like it?

If I had been on a romance-free diet,
this seemed like a good time to binge.

That was the most romantic, elegant...

Pardon me, that was weird.

...decadent, seven-course...

I'm sorry, honey.

Oh, boy.

Are you okay?

Honey?

Are you gonna be long in there?

Maybe.

Definitely. Why?

It's okay, I'll go to the other one.

When you splurge
on a romantic seven-course meal...

you generally want to remember every bite.

There was the soup course.

The dessert course.

And all those other yummy courses
in between.

That's gotta be it.

I'm done.

Harry and Charlotte had romance
shooting out of them every 20 minutes...

I'm not.

...for the rest of the night.

I wouldn't go in there if I were you.
It's not pleasant.

I can't make it to the other one.

It was the fucking fromage.

Don't!

That fucking fromage.

Look out, I'm coming in.

Surviving a night
of food poisoning together...

wasn't the stuff of great romance...

but it was the stuff of lasting love.

Meanwhile, a funny thing happened
on the way to the opera.

Wait.

What?

This music, this place.

You.

Isn't it perfect?

Would you dance with me?

It was the most romantic moment.

Are you okay?

No.

It's too much.

I'm an American.

You got to take it down a notch.

- Does she need any help?
- No, he's got her.

And then a quarter pounder with cheese...

McNuggets.

Would you like to super size that?

- Can you handle it?
- Absolutely.

Absolutely.

I'm sorry about the opera.

Don't be silly.

Another time, another dress.

May I offer you a fry?

They're French.

Then...

I think I might be up for a quick spin now.

If you'll still have me.

Of course.

That'll be $9.54.

And there,
beneath the fluorescent moonlight...

I was finally laughing with romance...

and not at it.

If I went any bigger than this,
I think I'd look ridiculous, don't you?

That's not my work.

But I did hers.
And hers, right before the Golden Globes.

They're winners.

Other arm, please.

I have an event in two months that I'd really
like to have a little cleavage for.

Will they be up and running by then?

You have a lump I'd like you
to have checked before we begin our work.

It's right here, you can feel it yourself.

- Are you kidding?
- I'm afraid not.

Okay, but it's not serious, right?

It's probably just a cyst,
but we want to be absolutely sure.

I'd like to have it looked at
as soon as possible.

By Miranda's wedding day, I thought
the whole world had gone romantic...

when Samantha insisted
on picking me up in a cab.

What has come over you?
This is a 100 blocks out of your way.

Now we're going
to 10th and Sixth Avenue, please.

- You look nice.
- So do you.

Thank you.

I had my breast consultation
with the plastic surgeon.

Please tell me you've changed your mind.

Not exactly.

He found a lump and I had it biopsied.

It turns out I have cancer.

What? When?

I had it biopsied on Wednesday
and I found out yesterday.

I'm going to give you all the information,
and I don't want you to get upset or worry.

The only reason
I'm telling you now and not later is...

I didn't want to accidentally blurt out:

"I have cancer,"
in the middle of Miranda's wedding.

Could you please take Fifth?
Broadway's a disaster.

I'm listening.

And please don't tell Charlotte and Miranda.

I don't want to ruin their days, too.

Of course, whatever you say.

What exactly do you know?

Just that there are cancer cells
and I had a mammogram.

They think it's small, which is a good sign.

I won't know anything else
until they take the fucker out next week.

Now you know everything
and we can talk about something else.

Do you like my skunk?

Thank you for telling me.

Sure.

I'm sorry to put a big cloud
over the whole day.

I know I'm gonna be fine, I know that.

It's just...

I don't want to lose my breasts.

They're fabulous.

They are.

For better, for worse.

For richer, or poorer.

To love and to cherish,
as long as we both shall live.

This is my solemn vow.

Now, Miranda.

I, Miranda Hobbes...

take you, Steve Brady...

to be my husband.

Look, Mommy and Daddy
are getting married.

For richer or poorer...

in sickness and in health...

to love and to cherish,
as long as we both shall live.

This is my solemn vow.

Do you promise to uphold these vows
you've made here today...

witnessed by your closest friends
and family?

I do.

With the power vested in me
by the state of New York...

I now pronounce you husband and wife.

Come on, everybody, it's happy time.

The one wedding ritual
Miranda never had a problem with...

was the part where everyone eats.

And so we did.

Samantha, you look so pretty today.

- Thanks, I have cancer.
- What?

- Are you okay with drinks?
- We're not okay with drinks.

- Keep them coming.
- Cool.

I like the color of your dress.

Thank you.

I admire you for not pretending.

Listen, we're family now...

and there's something private
I want to tell you.

You don't have to.

The day I married Steve's father,
I wore white.

But I shouldn't have.

I slipped.

Once, God forgive me.

Don't tell Steve.

When I walked down that aisle
at St. Agnes...

I had a white dress on, on the outside...

and my little Jackie on the inside.

Ma, you still hungry?

Let's get some chow.

My God, I am legally bound
to Steve's mother.

Hi, again.

Congratulations.

What? Why are you being weird?

- We're not being weird.
- We're just talking.

About me, right?

You think I'm an asshole,
that I've become one of them...

that I'm a Stepford bride.

No.

So tell me what you're talking about.

I'll tell you tomorrow,
I don't want to ruin your special day.

Forget about my special fucking day
and be normal.

Please, I beg of you.

I have breast cancer.

- What?
- See?

Now it's my special fucking day.

You have breast cancer?

Hey, no tears.

I expected more from you.

This is what we were afraid of.

Go back to your people,
we'll talk about this later.

You are my people
and we'll talk about it now!

Start at the beginning.

You are the bossiest bride in the world.

Yes I am,
and you have to do everything I say.

Start talking.

Do you remember when I went...

For better or for worse,
we were all ourselves that day.

Just the way Miranda wanted it.

Ripped by RavyDavy
part of the [RL] Crew