PICTURE me sitting poised at a laptop, whimsically staring out of the window of a New York apartment, curtain billowing in a gentle breeze, as I write this column.

Because - yes, you guessed it - the Sex And The City movie is finally out this month.

It's been four long years since the show finished and, God, how I have missed it.

The new movie has been dangled like a carrot on a stick over us fans for months now: snapshots of the girls in their hot new outfits have been filtered through magazines and rumours have abounded that Carrie will marry Mr Big and ditch her blonde curls.

But at last we will be able to find out for ourselves because the release date is almost upon us.

I have never been as excited waiting for a film. I feel like one of those obsessive Star Wars fans who cried at the trailer for Phantom Menace.

Perhaps you think I'm being a bit over-the-top?

But talking about the film with my friends the other day, I couldn't help but wonder . . . would the world be a different place if Sex And The City had never existed?

The show changed young women's lives and gave us so much more than a decent TV programme to watch on Friday nights.

It gave us:

  • Cosmopolitans - The vodka cocktail that replaced white wine spritzers as our tipple of choice.
  • Manolo Blahniks - The to-die-for shoes which, while often impossible to walk in, became an overnight status symbol.
  • The phrase "He's just not that into you" - The simple refreshing truth as to why he never called the next day.
  • And of course The Rabbit - A seemingly innocent device which certainly seemed to make a lot of women very happy.

At one time every group of girlfriends will have had the conversation where they decide which character they'd all be if they were in Sex and the City.

And every time there will have been a squabble over who had to be Miranda.

I heard of a SATC-themed fancy dress party where four people came as Carrie, two as Charlotte, three as Samantha - and none as Miranda.

No offence to actress Cynthia Nixon but it's just those boxy solicitor's suits were never going to be in the running against Carrie's off-the-wall outfits.

Men don't "get" Sex And The City.

They can't understand why we're all so obsessed with a "horse-faced woman dressed like a transvestite" and her cronies. They don't like watching a group of women talking about sex and relationships in such an up-front way.

And the cackles of recognition they hear make them feel nervous.

But do we care? Of course we don't. Sex And The City made us feel like brilliant, brave feminists who could do what they liked when they liked.

And I for one will be dusting off my oversized corsage in preparation for the big day.