Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Fifty Shades of Reality

*This post is about Fifty Shades of Grey. If you are my mother and reading this blog, please do not read Fifty Shades of Grey. And if you do, do not tell me that you read it. That's all I ask.*

So I've been pretty busy lately reading the trilogy Fifty Shades of Grey. And I can't say I'm all too impressed. Why did I read all three books then? Because I'm an optimist. So if you have a new business idea of selling used chewing gum to denture users and you are looking for an angel investor, chances are I'll believe it will be a sensational idea and will float you a loan.

To be honest, I too was swept up in the fantasy of the story. Once I got over the initial shock of word porn, I found myself fantasizing about living at the Grey house. Why? Not for the mind-blowing sex. Actually, that part got a little boring. No, I was way more excited about the personal chef, chauffeur and house keeper. Heaven help me, if I could come home and have someone preparing my meals for me and cleaning my house to the point of even santizing the playroom I would be in ecstasy. Goodness knows those stuffed animals could use a good scrubbing. (And you thought I was talking about the "Red Room of Pain" didn't you? Tsk tsk...)

So here is my tribute to Fifty Shades...of Reality. Welcome to my world.

"My Fifty Shades walks in as I am cooking our dinner. 'Mmm' he says, 'what are you cooking Hot Stuff?' As my insides melt as I am slaving over a hot stove, I give him my most sultry look through my eyelashes 'Chicken nuggets. Damn, I have something in my eye.'

He walks over to the table. 'Do you need me to get the table ready? Do you know what I could do with this table?' He gives me a dark look as his eyes turn that shade of grey. 'Yes,' I reply, breathing hard because I am holding our toddler while pouring the milk for dinner, my inner goddess doing an elaborate ribbon twirling routine. 'You can wipe it with a Lysol wipe before dinner. I think we forgot after breakfast this morning.'

We eat our dinner as quickly as we can, because in our house, if you don't eat fast, you don't eat. My Fifty Shades looks at me as our fingers touch while we exchange dirty dishes. 'Do you want to take a bath or a shower?' I look at him quizzically, my subconscious looking up from her Complete Works of Shakespeare in Mandarin. 'I think we only have time for a shower. What exactly are you thinking?' My Fifty looks at me with a knowing expression. 'You are right. But we'll have to be fast or we'll run out of hot water.'

The kids playing downstairs, I jump into the shower. As I turn around, Fifty climbs into the shower. 'Now we won't run out of hot water. I'll wash your back.' Oh my. My inner goddess finishes her floor routine and moves on to an awkward salsa dance. As he lathers up his hands, he murmurs into my ear, 'Did you pick me up more shaving cream?' Oh my. The door slams open as our darling eight-year old stomps into the bathroom, 'Do you know what my brother did? He broke all my legos! He is never going into my room ever again!' Tears streaming down his face, he runs out of the bathroom. I rinse quickly and move on to damage control with the babies.

We finally put the children to bed, 90 minutes after we first start the process. I don my most alluring over-sized t-shirt and climb into bed, adjusting my pillow pet that I received for my birthday last year. Fifty is already in bed and I can hear him breathing. Deeply. I snuggle into him, feeling a rumbling deep inside. Damn, I shouldn't have had those last 3 bites of cake. Fifty turns over to face me, looking me in the eyes. Oh, my insides turn to jelly. I really shouldn't have had that cake. What was I thinking? As I turn out the light, our youngest stirs and starts shouting that he needs to go to the potty. Oh my."