|I went to snatch it out of her hands but then I remembered she can't read.|
Now, for the rest of you - on to the story.
A few weeks ago I met my friend - to protect her privacy we'll call her 'The Sexual Tyrannosaurus' - for dinner.
"I'm reading these books and they're really hot," she said breathlessly as she sat down. "They're like full blown, hard core S&M porn and when (Mr. Sexual Tyrannosaurus) gets home from work I attack him out of nowhere and give it to him six ways to Sunday! I'm actually running late because I was shopping online for butt plugs."
"Ummm... we're going to need juuuust a minute on those drink orders," I smiled sweetly at the waiter as he slowly backed away, his lips curled around his teeth, terrified.
I was intrigued. "So what books are these, EXACTLY?" I asked, leaning in.
She proceeded to give me the full description of the Shades of Grey trilogy and informed me she is one chapter away from putting her husband in traction. And that he was loving every minute of it.
Our waiter never came back.
A few nights later we went over to their house for dinner. I couldn't help but notice that when her husband answered the door it looked like he had dropped weight and each of his eyes were looking in different directions.
We all went to the kitchen to make some drinks and once Sexual Tyrannosaurus left the room he grabbed my arm.
"Hannah - I don't have much time. She's fucking crazy," he frantically hissed in my face.
"You have to help me! Destroy the book! I've lost feeling in my testicles!"
"Oh God! Where, exactly, is this book so I can, uhhh, 'destroy' it?"
"Hey! What are you guys talking about?" Sexual Tyrannosaurus asked as she came back into the kitchen.
"N... nothing!" he stammered and flinched.
"Hey, I have something to show you... in the bedroom," she said as she batted her eyelashes and grabbed his hand.
He turned, and with crazy eyes mouthed the words, "Call the police!"
And that was the last time anyone ever saw him alive.
Of course now I was more intrigued than ever. But unfortunately all of my free time for reading has been monopolized by the monthly selection of my book club. I have a list of books I'd love to read but between the book club book and all my other household duties like napping and spraying Febreeze on stuff 5 minutes before Nick comes home I really don't have the time.
But, as luck would have it, and to my shock, last month it was announced that our book club's July selection would be Fifty Shades of Grey. I found it shocking because five of my ten book club friends are Muslims. And it's not that I thought my Muslim friends didn't have sex... it's just that... well let's just say that this selection was of a very different genre than our books in the past. Also, the boudoir is usually the first (and only) topic of conversation among most of my other circles of friends, and it's never come up at any of our book club dinners, even after lots and lots (and LOTS) of wine. We just talk about religion and life and politics and other boring stuff.
I took a slug of wine and silently congratulated myself for chipping away at religious stereotypes and bringing the world one step closer to perfect harmony one pornographic book at a time. I slammed the rest of my Merlot and declared to the restaurant, "We 'bout to gets freaky up in this motherfucker!" as conversation abruptly ceased and everyone stared at me open mouthed.
I didn't notice. "Anybody know how The Rainbow Connection starts out?" I asked, grabbing at my friend's hand as she snatched it away and scooted her chair around the table.
I called my sister on the way home.
"Oh yeah they're good," she said. "Very good. Johnnie has started coming home from work wearing a helmet. Want to borrow my copy?"
She came to visit the following weekend and pulled the book out of her suitcase. It looked like something that had been fished out from the bottom of a pile of tornado debris and smelled like tomatoes.
"You may want to wipe it down with some Purel or something," she said, throwing it on my kids' activity table.
I read it immediately. I must begin by telling you that if you're looking for Charles Dickens you're going to be extremely disappointed. Most scenes can be served with a big side of cheeseball. For instance, the main character wakes up in the middle of the night after a one night stand to find the dude she just banged in his parlor playing classical piano.
I don't know about you, but I prefer my one night stand stories to stay true to form. Waking up in the middle of the night wondering where the hell you are and why your face is painted like a jack rabbit.
And actually, it turned out to be more than a one night stand (WAKKA WAKKA NEVER HAPPENS!), and the dude seduces her into signing a legal document to be his slave. Which at least is a little more realistic, as most of you have experienced the wondrous joy of holy matrimony.
But it is what it is, and despite a lack of basic literary skill the book gets the job done.
I don't want to get into all of the details but let's just say that my Mirena has a deer rifle in its mouth right now.
The one downfall is that the book uses a lot of fancy, expensive contraptions so I've had to get a little creative with our limited budget.
"Why is there a bag of Meow Mix on our bed? We don't have a cat," Nick asked as we got ready for bed last night.
"Ccccccchh. Jucht go wit it," I said, stepping out of the bathroom.
"Why are you wearing rabbit teeth?"
"Romanch!" I say, throwing a hand full of kibble at his genitals.
"I have no say in this, do I?"
"That's 'oink' in Japanese."
"What the hell is wrong with you? How much of that Zoloft have you had today?"
"Enough that everyone in our house is still alive."
And speaking of keeping things alive, I've got to run. I'm taking the girls to their first livestock auction this morning. I did some research on wild animals in residential areas and found a loophole involving waterfowl and an unfinished basement.
We 'bout to get freaky up in here.