Yes, I’m going there.
This week’s flavor is your one and only Fifty Shades because I said so. It’s the thing we all love to hate. And while we think it’s fricking weird that our moms read it before we did, we will still pack it like a illegal stow-away, Charlotte Doyle/Benito Cereno -esque, in our travel totes and make it look so incognito that the fat guy sitting next to us on the airplane will think we’re getting all hot and bothered from the cabin pressure and maybe like a good hardcover edition of Anne Frank’s diary. Fifty Shades is comparable to the puberty video I was forced to watch on a jumbo projection screen in fifth grade. I would never admit to the fact that yeah, I had been waiting to see it since kindergarten.
I decided to read Fifty Shades of Grey last summer while I was living with a Muslim family in central Turkey. The eternal fear that my older “brother,” “father,” or “cousin” would find this goldmine of all things un-Muslim kept me up at night. Did I hide Fifty in the perfect location? Did they know what it was? Was it legal to have that in my possession in Turkey? Ohmigod I’m going to get arrested and then probably stoned, or maybe stoned and then arrested, and then my mom is going to be really mad at me for not coming back to America and returning her copy of the book. As you can tell, it was a very stressful experience.
One day in front of these really nice Turkish construction workers my American friend asked me what I was reading. I decided to be like “Uhh… it doesn’t matter really…………” and then he goes “What? It’s not like you’re reading Fifty Shades of Grey or something.” Then I basically decided that my life is a joke.
Here’s to Fifty Shades of Grey, for still being relevant and morbidly embarrassing even though it was published 10 million years ago.