<\/p>\n
When I learned that HBO Max had up and canceled And Just Like That\u2026 <\/em>, the first three words out of my mouth were: \u201cOh, thank God!\u201d<\/p>\n I\u2019m not joking. My heart was flooded with an incredible sense of relief. It\u00a0was one of those hushed, lark-who-is-learning-pray<\/a> moments \u2014 the sort you experience when you\u2019ve been freed of a burden of suffering you\u2019ve carried for a long, long time. Three seasons, to be specific. Finally<\/em> (I continued, speaking to myself in an odd, elated daze),\u00a0Sarah Jessica Parker\u2019<\/a>s Sex and the City<\/a> <\/em>spinoff was going to be put out of its misery \u2014 and, perhaps more to the point, I\u2019d <\/em>be put out of my<\/em> misery, too. I\u2019d no longer have to think<\/em> about it. A win-win, in short.<\/p>\n This may sound ridiculous, but it’s true: I always found watching And Just Like That… <\/em> stressful. Parker and a small army of smart, talented people seemed to be perpetually struggling to make And Just Like That…<\/em> good \u2014 instead of just good enough<\/em>. Why couldn\u2019t they get the thing to work? That hadn’t been the case with Sex and the City,<\/a> <\/em>which was like a\u00a0magically replenishing cosmo that you could sip year after year. And Just Like That…<\/em> never went down with that bracing smoothness. Imagine that you’re sitting at a bar, open to whatever adventure the night may bring you, and a wonderful-looking stranger across the room starts flirting with you, sending over odd, fussed-over drinks \u2014 a paprikatini, maybe.<\/p>\n