Fifty shades of failure

I have never been a very deep thinker. Given the choice between reading People magazine and The Economist, I will opt to dive into the life of Kim Kardashian any day of the week.

Thus, I was curious about the runaway bestseller 50 Shades of Grey by EL James. This is the fictional account of the erotic relationship between the innocent college grad, Anastasia, and her new BDSM-loving business magnate beau Christian.

No doubt, this book has become the sex bible for zillions of women who have become devoted fans. It has set a new standard for sexual relationships.

Always up for a challenge, I decided to do an objective comparison between the protagonist’s sex life and mine.

Sex attire: Anastasia wears suitably seductively risque attire for her role as a submissive. My husband bought me sexy lingerie once – but he was thinking of my pre-baby weight when he was describing me to the Victoria’s Secret salesgirl. Unfortunately, his gift became a cloth to clean my graduated lenses and I reverted to my usual flannel, part of the inheritance from my Grandma.

Creative use of sex toys: Anastasia’s relationship involves props that I had no idea existed outside of police stations and dog training facilities. I searched our toy drawer but the best I could come up with was our dog’s half-chewed rawhide bone, old bank receipts, and a stale package of jujubes.

Risk: If Anastasia wasn’t a submissive, she could be a cirque de soleil performer. I tried hanging upside down once from bars in high school gym class but landed on my face, and ended up in the Principal’s office with a bloody nose. Any position other than safely horizontal is not one I would ever consider.

Frequency: Anastasia has sex all the time, sometimes several times a day. Unfortunately my peak time (once my work day is done, the dishes are loaded in the dishwasher, and I take the dog out for her final pee) coincides squarely with the time that Jon Stewart is on.

Here’s my take on 50 Shades of Grey. This book is the female equivalent of x-box. The reason I let my kids spend hours in the basement killing zombies and blowing up terrorists is to let them get any aggression out of their system in a safe and controlled environment. And if 50 Shades of Grey lets zillions of women all over the world release their pent up sexual energy vicariously, well then I applaud it for performing an important community service.

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