“Did that woman just call you a slut?” my dad asked me, referring to the lady with the microphone at the front of the bus. At 17 years old, this was not how I envisioned my first trip to New York unfolding. The woman in question hadn’t said it in quite so many words, but for the three hours I spent on a tour bus in Manhattan with two dozen ecstatic women, I was my father’s translator, deciphering the lingo like it was Klingon and he’d arrived with a lightsaber.
It was 2008, and we were on the Sex and the City tour of New York. The woman, our guide for the day, had asked which of the show’s four protagonists each of us associated most with. More accurate than any Myers-Briggs test, you can learn everything there is to know about a person from the trusty combination of their Hogwarts house, their star sign, and whether they are a Carrie, a Miranda, a Charlotte, or a Samantha.
