I have just watched a marathon of Sex and the City. I'd never seen it before.

And, I have a confession to make.

I have never owned a pair of Manolo Blahniks. I know, shocking. But wait, there's more. I've never toted my lipstick in a Fendi; I've never worn anything designed by anyone named Wang or Versace and I've never swiped my credit card at Prada, Gucci or Coach. And do you want to know the worst part? I don't care.

I have spontaneously hopped on a train in Bucharest and opened my eyes 26 hours later in Warsaw. I've eaten fried pineapple at a Chinese restaurant in Venice and wandered the markets in rural Transylvania. I've danced in the rain. I'v married my best friend and I have slow danced with my four month old at three in the morning. I have done lots of things in lots of places...

But I've never worn $400 stillettos or knocked back shots at clubs where the guests sit on beds rather than at tables. There have never been one night stands or splurges on purses from Prada. And I've never been the "other" woman.

I am the antithesis of Carrie Bradshaw and her quartet of cosmopolitan sipping, socially savvy singletons. And it's true; I don’t have Sex in the City.

Well, wait. That's not entirely true. I just don't have sex in their city.

In my city, I'm part wife, part mother-in-training, part office slave and part stressed student. In short, I'm a tightrope walker, carefully balancing more than my (non-existent) budget - I'm balancing my life.

Thank God there's a net...wait...there is a net, isn't there?