Fifty Shades of Grey

So my mother wants me to go see this with her.  Yes. You read that right. My mother.  I have no interest in the movie. I had no interest in the books. I’m not a prude, exactly. I just don’t like bad literature. Life is short and there is plenty to read without feeling the need to read something just because everyone else is.   Hearing it described as porn for middle aged women did  nothing to pique my interest.  Actually I had never heard of the series at all until my mother told me about it.  Her friend had recommended it.  She was sharing this bit of information as we were in the elevator on our way to chemo.  And her description of this literary masterpiece continued through the usual 30 minute wait, my blood draw, nurses visit and 4 hour chemo treatment with a short respite while my doctor was talking to me.  She got more and more animated in her defense of this book series (though I had said nothing beyond I wasn’t interested in reading it) until she was throwing around words like “erotic” with wild abandon. Keep in mind there is only a modicum of privacy in the chemo room in the form of curtains. Curtains which are made of ordinary material, not sound proof foam or titanium steel, and she was not using her inside voice.  I couldn’t help but notice the television sets on either side of me kept getting louder and louder and soon the words “come on down” “erotica” and “you are not the baby daddy” were becoming all jumbled in my head.  I couldn’t run away at this point because I was tethered to an infusion pump.  Blissfully the massive dose of Benadryl started to take effect and I was just on the edge of consciousness when the massive dose of steroids kicked in and I sat up with a start.  Now I was wide awake but too tired to defend myself against the onslaught of a bad literary review. Fuck.  Soon a nurse who was passing by heard my mother’s one sided conversation about Fifty Shades and poked her head in the curtain to announce she was reading it too and OH EM GEE isn’t it GOOD?.  Note to self: make sure this nurse is never in charge of pumping poison through the small opening in your chest.. her judgment is suspect.   At the end of my treatment she bade us a cheerful goodbye and gleefully told me she would be thinking of me when she read 50 Shades that night. I deadpanned..”Please don’t”.

My mother has tried to get me to read the books a few more times and will vehemently defend them, even in the absence of any criticism.   So. Fast forward to the movie opening.  She is determined we are going. I am determined to jump off the George Carter bridge to keep that from happening.

Actually I read recently that people are going to show up in “fetish wear”. She has no idea this is a possibility. I may take her just for the comedic material it would provide.   I’m also planning to tell my 84 year old father who loves WWII movies that this is about 40s Germany and promises lots of action.  Why not?  Doesn’t hurt to keep my ticket to hell updated.

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