Time for another confession. It’s a little early for an “I Don’t Get It,” but I have to admit I don’t get it.

I am talking about the buzz of the weekend. That would be the arrival of the “Sex and the City” movie.

I happen to be in the Roger Ebert camp on this one. If you read his review, he freely admits he’s probably not the person to be doing the review. He’s not a fan.

That makes two of us. Maybe it’s a guy thing. That’s the way it appears here in the office. Many of our female staffers, especially the younger wins, are positively pumped by the arrival of the big-screen version of Carrie Bradshaw (I think that’s the name of Sarah Jessica Parker’s character) and her gal pals.

I suppose it would help if you’ve seen the TV series. I have not. It might help in that regard if you have HBO, which aired the show. I do not.

I would not know a pair of Manolo Blahniks from a pair of Crocs. I don’t own either. I’m told the former became a “must-have” item after it became a running theme on the show. I’m also told they will set you back several hundred bucks.

Don’t hold your breath waiting for me to fork over that kind of dough for shoes. I’m more of a Payless guy myself. Although my family does believe I have something of a sneaker fetish. I stopped counting how many pairs I have.

So I’ll pass on “Sex and the City.” I guess I’ll just have to wait for “Sex and the Suburbs.” It has to do with the resurgence of amorous bedrooms romps among husbands and wives who can’t afford gas to go anywhere else.