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The same people who hate Fifty Shades of Grey with a passion also hate Valentine’s Day with a passion.
They are the ones who refused to read the book, will never see the movie, and are still outraged that it has sold over a hundred million copies. They shudder in disbelief at Anastasia’s shocking grammar, wonder how she can say ‘Oh My’ so often, and are incredulous that any girl could find Christian’s misogynistic abusive behaviour so cool.
Also, that she calls her cunt a hoo-hoo.
They say they are shocked by Anastasia’s awful taste in cardigans and her ridiculous naivety, but mostly, I think they are shocked by her orgasms.
Because we all know, it is not possible to say OH MY OH MY OH MY with such clarity while having an orgasm. And also, that once you have had twelve orgasms in a row, it is pretty much impossible to say anything at all.
Really, they just don’t like the many references to her Inner Goddess. Or the fakeness.
A bit like Valentine’s Day.
The shops are selling fake red roses from China, cheap chocolates wrapped in red glitzy paper, and cuddly teddy bears with red ribbons whose beady eyes will fall out and probably kill a three year old child.
It’s all crazy consumerist rubbish, it’s a huge waste of money, there are no love goddesses around, and mostly, we look down our noses at it.
But some of us, a few million of us, actually do buy into it.
Because hey, it can feel good. I kinda like giving a chocolate to my lover, a teddy to my kids, a plastic rose to my girlfriend.
Because it’s fun!
Which brings me back to the book. I loved Fifty Shades of Grey. I acknowledged immediately at how ridiculous it was, and how badly written, but it was light and frothy and fabulous in parts and hilarious in others, and what it did do was give us women permission to read erotica (albeit bad erotica) in public. And to talk about it too.
EL James, with her mommy porn, got us talking. About women and men and sex and misogyny and handcuffs and BDSM and about gender and equality and feminism, and these are all good things to bring into the open.
And who doesn't want to talk about sex and BDSM anyway?
I can’t remember if I finished the book. Actually, I do remember. I got a bit carried away on Page 32 playing out some scenes, dropped it in the bath and never bought a new copy.
So tomorrow, I am going to buy a one.
And this weekend, on Valentine’s Day, I’m going to watch the movie. And then I’m going to read Fifty Shades, Series Two and Three. And eat chocolate. Hopefully get given some overpriced flowers which I can put in a vase. And even practice a bit of BDSM. But not in the bath.
Do. Not. Disturb.
Unless you’re bringing me a gift. Or a whip. Or handcuffs. Because then, you’re welcome!
Happy Valentine’s Day.
They are the ones who refused to read the book, will never see the movie, and are still outraged that it has sold over a hundred million copies. They shudder in disbelief at Anastasia’s shocking grammar, wonder how she can say ‘Oh My’ so often, and are incredulous that any girl could find Christian’s misogynistic abusive behaviour so cool.
Also, that she calls her cunt a hoo-hoo.
They say they are shocked by Anastasia’s awful taste in cardigans and her ridiculous naivety, but mostly, I think they are shocked by her orgasms.
Because we all know, it is not possible to say OH MY OH MY OH MY with such clarity while having an orgasm. And also, that once you have had twelve orgasms in a row, it is pretty much impossible to say anything at all.
Really, they just don’t like the many references to her Inner Goddess. Or the fakeness.
A bit like Valentine’s Day.
The shops are selling fake red roses from China, cheap chocolates wrapped in red glitzy paper, and cuddly teddy bears with red ribbons whose beady eyes will fall out and probably kill a three year old child.
It’s all crazy consumerist rubbish, it’s a huge waste of money, there are no love goddesses around, and mostly, we look down our noses at it.
But some of us, a few million of us, actually do buy into it.
Because hey, it can feel good. I kinda like giving a chocolate to my lover, a teddy to my kids, a plastic rose to my girlfriend.
Because it’s fun!
Which brings me back to the book. I loved Fifty Shades of Grey. I acknowledged immediately at how ridiculous it was, and how badly written, but it was light and frothy and fabulous in parts and hilarious in others, and what it did do was give us women permission to read erotica (albeit bad erotica) in public. And to talk about it too.
EL James, with her mommy porn, got us talking. About women and men and sex and misogyny and handcuffs and BDSM and about gender and equality and feminism, and these are all good things to bring into the open.
And who doesn't want to talk about sex and BDSM anyway?
I can’t remember if I finished the book. Actually, I do remember. I got a bit carried away on Page 32 playing out some scenes, dropped it in the bath and never bought a new copy.
So tomorrow, I am going to buy a one.
And this weekend, on Valentine’s Day, I’m going to watch the movie. And then I’m going to read Fifty Shades, Series Two and Three. And eat chocolate. Hopefully get given some overpriced flowers which I can put in a vase. And even practice a bit of BDSM. But not in the bath.
Do. Not. Disturb.
Unless you’re bringing me a gift. Or a whip. Or handcuffs. Because then, you’re welcome!
Happy Valentine’s Day.
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