THE colour pink, chocolate...

and now Sarah Jessica Parker.

These three are part of the hallowed canon of phenomena that draw in people with no Y chromosomes quicker than any man could dream of.

Almost every girl I know swapped their pints for cocktails, their jeans for dresses, grabbed the three nearest women and tottered off to see Sex and the City II as fast as their heels would carry them.

I have to admit I love the show – it’s funny, well-scripted and, from time to time, has a little female nudity.

However, in dating terms these are four of the worst women in the world.

First is Charlotte, whose sole aim in life has always been to get married...but only to a doctor or a lawyer, ideally with inherited wealth. Numerous episodes suggest she has the sex drive of an elderly panda and her most raunchy fantasy is probably making love to a long-term partner on a leafy glade surrounded by unicorns.

Miranda, on the other hand, has been successful in her own right and become a hotshot lawyer so she can spend her time doing what she really enjoys – telling people she’s a hotshot lawyer. During her single days, if there was a slight lapse in the endless stream of dates vying for her attention, she would take a good hard look at herself.

How could men possibly reject her? Was it because she whines all the time? Maybe it is because she is ginger and looks like a thumb? No, apparently she is just too damn great.

With a knowing smirk she would lament to her gal pals how terribly intimidated men were by her immense power.

Her mantra changed slightly when she had a baby and became Miranda Ultra, treating her husband like dirt, cutting out all optional forms of personal grooming and being furious at the world for not continually marvelling at her achievements as a mother AND a hotshot lawyer.

Then there is Samantha. Being a lifetime supporter of promiscuous women I would find it hard to criticise her were she not so predatory.

The moment these words hit the page I imagine I will be getting emails from women citing numerous male characters that litter television shows and misbehave in exactly the same way.

But I can imagine few middleaged male characters would be treated sympathetically if they spent all their time trawling bars looking to seduce younger women for one-night stands, smirking smugly whenever the subject of sex was mentioned and gossiping to his friends about the poor sexual performance of his latest victim.

Carrie is by far the nicest, but irritating feminist rhetoric still leaks into occasional episodes.

The most outrageous example of this was when she caught the love of her life getting married to someone else.

She pushed all the humiliation and pain into a bitter little ball in her stomach and belched out a self-congratulatory monologue about how some horses are too wild to be tamed.

Sweetie, all you’ve done is drink Manhattans, bought pretty shoes and been dumped – you are not Emmeline Pankhurst.