Fifty Shades of Beige

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Fifty Shades of Beige, or, When Did I Become a Boring Person?

 I have not read Fifty Shades of Gray.  I know, I know, that’s what everyone says.  Everyone talks about it while insisting, “Oh, I didn’t read it.”  Well, I really didn’t read it, but I read a lot about it, and I listened to people who said they didn’t read it but someone they knew read it and told them about it.  So I have the gist of, well, not the plot – no one talks about the plot – but, shall we say, the high points.

 I’m not going to deny that I’m an old prude, and a prunish one at that, but I pride myself on being open-minded.  What consenting adults want to do behind closed doors is none of my business.  Still, the popularity of a book about bondage and submission really bothered me, particularly when it’s a woman who is in the submissive status.  Don’t we get enough of that in everyday life?

 Then I got to thinking about the readership of Fifty Shades.  They’re romance fans.  Romance fans!  Try to imagine the love song that will go over the titles of the movie version:  Have I ever told you/ how much I wanted to scold you/ and abuse and berate you/ and act like I hate you…

What, I wonder, would happen if Ms. Fifty Shades-reader’s sweet patootie really came home, not with the pink furry handcuffs, but with hardware?  I know I’ve heard reports about women buying ‘equipment’ at the Home Depot for something other than a maintenance project.  Here’s what gets me:  aren’t these the same women who scream in agony if the Mister leaves the toilet seat up?  “I didn’t turn the light on and I hit that cold rim and I nearly fell in, you rotten…”

I think the whole trend will be more authentic when we hear women moaning, “Oooh, baby, leave that seat UP” or, “Mmm, I love it when you watch me scrubbing the kitchen floor on my hands and knees.”

 I’m waiting for the next logical phase in the trend of sexy pain:  Childbirth porn*.  Fifty shades of pink and blue, anyone?

 *(Please don’t tell me it already exists!)

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