I DON'T KNOW HOW SHE DOES IT HIT IT! HIT IT! No, not the piñata. Hit the other thing! HIT IT!

WITH I DON'T KNOW HOW SHE DOES IT, the problems of working women are once again force fed to the gaping maw of Sarah Jessica Parker's apparently bottomless hunger to portray herself as a relatable workin' gal. These days, though, SJP is the everywoman that no woman actually wants to be. She resembles a horse carved out of a dried-up apple, and her new movie is a class-deaf mess.

This time around, SJP plays a high-powered hedge fund investment banker manager thingy who's torn between work and family. Business trips frequently wrench her from her Boston home all the way to far-flung Manhattan, and every time she leaves, her daughter acts like a total crybaby asshole. But SJP keeps accidentally climbing the corporate ladder—plus she deeply loves her job, because the stock market can't see what gender she is. (Actual quote.)

The movie's central conflict, and would that I were oversimplifying, is that SJP wants to be incredibly successful as a mother and a banker.

Of course, most working mothers don't have the luxury of choosing between whether to work or stay home. Nor do they have full-time childcare and Olivia Munn as their assistant and husbands who are architects and blah blah, you know all this. What you may not know, however, is that "trying to be a man is a waste of a woman." True. SPJ said so. In voiceover, which is where she says all her truest shit.

Class complaints aside, you know what is a terrible thing to do to a person who is sitting in a movie theater with their head resting against a seat where THOUSANDS OF OTHER STRANGERS have also rested their heads? Introduce a lice subplot. Oh, and confidential to Olivia Munn: If Sarah Jessica Parker tells you not to get an abortion, DO NOT LISTEN. ABORT. ABORT.

In conclusion, I miss movies where bankers are the bad guys, and I wish Hollywood would stop pretending that rich people's problems are real problems. The end.