Okay, I'm officially on the bandwagon. You moms with all of your oohing and ahhhing, and "Oh, Mr. Grey-ing." Your running to the nearest Pleasure Chest Sex Emporium, and your, "My laundry and dishes are piling up because I can't put these books down," have gotten me to read the "Fifty Shades" series.
So, what is it about these books that have moms devouring them like leftover fries on their child's plate?
Well, here's what I've come up with after reading them: It makes me giggle when someone calls their vagina their "sex." I find the sound of ripping foil oddly erotic. And Christian has made millions of women across the world, myself included, rethink our marriages, and wonder why our hubbies can't be more attentive, loving, obsessed, and well, "Christian-esque."
So, what's the deal? Why can't our hubby's be more like Christian Grey?
Because like "Twilight's" Edward Cullen (who the character is based on), hot young vampires and hot young billionaires that barely work, have erotic sex, lavish you with expensive goodies, and make sure you're never cold, hungry, or un-swathed in designer duds don't exist.
But if they did, would we want them? I wonder what they'd be like after a few years of marriage and a couple of children?
Hmmm? (Imagine squiggly lines in your mind, to indicate a dream sequence):
CHRISTIAN: Ohh, Mrs. Grey, stop biting that lower lip or I'll take you here in the breakfast nook!
ANASTASIA: Um, Mr. Grey, it would behoove you to wait until the children are done with their Cheerios. It might be a bit awkward and messy with them around. Oh my, you're starting to creep me out.
CHRISTIAN: Oh, don't worry about the mess, Mrs. Grey, Ms. Jones will tend to it.
ANASTASIA: Which reminds me, Mr. Grey, please ask Ms. Jones to stop sterilizing the butt plugs with the bottle nipples.
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CHRISTIAN: Oh Anastasia, that Chanel suit, is a miracle on you. Is that spit up on the lapel? Please, allow me to lick it off.
ANASTASIA: Umm, Mr. Grey that's disgusting. Might I write up a contract in which you agree to never say that again?
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ANASTASIA: Mr Grey, could you please release these nipple clamps? I'm trying to breastfeed here.
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CHRISTIAN: Yes, children, I was adopted. My birth mother was a dirty crack whore. Do you want to hear the story of how they found me, again? Ahh, how a decade of therapy has allowed me to speak freely. Thank you Dr. Flynn.
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CHRISTIAN: Little Ana, you want your Mommy? Well, mommy can't come in right now she's a bit tied up at the moment.
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ANASTASIA: Is that a Barbie up my butt?
CHRISTIAN: Oops, wrong playroom.
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CHRISTIAN: Oh, wee Christian, another nightmare? Don't worry, I'm an expert on nightmares. I used to have them every night -- about the crack whore. You know, grandma? Would you like to touch my burn scars?
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ANASTASIA: Mr. Grey, would you consider buying a new pair of jeans? Those have seen better days. Plus, the spare tire you've acquired hangs over them like a girly muffin top.
CHRISTIAN: With the time I spend on the kids' activities, making odd mixes on my iPod, and running the world's most successful company, I don't have the hours I once did to work out, my sweet, sweet love. Let us shower together and reflect upon it. I want to wash your hair and bury my face in it. Oh, how I will never stop loving you.
ANASTASIA: Ummm, yeah, I already showered. I have to get our kids bathed and ready for bed, but while we're on the subject, could you switch to another body wash? I mean you've been using that one for like a decade, a change would be refreshing. Maybe try Axe, I hear good things.
CHRISTIAN: Of course, anything for you. Want to sell a house and buy a new one?
ANASTASIA: No, I'm good.
CHRISTIAN: Oh Ana, who I will never stop loving, I will have you cut my hair after you're done with the kid's bathing ritual.
ANASTASIA: Christian, it's not like there's much left to cut. Just set the electric razor on the first setting, like I showed you, and go over your horseshoe.
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CHRISTIAN: Oh my Ana, who is mine and only mine. I would prefer you not go to the PTA meeting this evening. I don't know who will be lurking there.
ANASTASIA: Moms.
CHRISTIAN: Moms can be unseemly. My own mom was a crack whore, have I mentioned that? I'll have security accompany you, and taste any goods you buy from the bake sale.
ANASTASIA: That won't be necessary. I hate how you smother me, my fifty.
INNER GODDESS: (who hasn't done a triple lutz in years) Yeah, that trick got old fast.
SUBCONSCIOUS: I can't even bring myself to say, "I told you so," again. I'll just reread "Little Women".
ANASTASIA: NOOOOO! not the voices again. Shut up you stupid voices, it's been 10 years, why don't you leave me alone?
SUBCONSCIOUS: Paging Dr. Flynn.
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CHRISTIAN: Little Christian got a B on his report card? Unacceptable, I have mind enough to put him over my knee... and then I will do the same to you when I'm done. My palm is twitchy.
ANASTASIA: Can we please add those phrases to the contract? You know, the things you'll never say again? Also, you should know I'm considering a restraining order.
CHRISTIAN: Oh Ana, don't say things like that. You know I would never part with you or the children, EVER. Only in death. No, even then, I will make sure you've all eaten 3 square meals and are warm enough. Taylor, be prepared for plan C.
ANASTASIA: What?
CHRISTIAN: Nothing.
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You know, on second thought, having our own Christian Grey's might not be the answer. Sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for. Why, just last week my hubby (working from home) got the kids dressed, fed them breakfast, made their lunches and got them off to school. I may have even heard a "Don't ask mommy, she's sleeping." After a decade of marriage, that may be close enough.
You can see more of Jenny From the Blog at her humor column: The Suburban Jungle.com