Here’s the deal: everyone is reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Except you. You just know you’ll hate it. You’re too good for it. But you still kinda want to make fun of it. Just a little. All in good fun, right? Yeah, me too.
But that means one of us has to read it. Here I am, taking one for the team. I am going to read Fifty Shades of Grey so you don’t have to. You’re welcome.
I haven’t cracked the spine yet, so I don’t have any first impressions except what I’ve heard on Twitter, or Facebook, or even IRL (IKR?). Mommy porn? I’m a mommy, but porn? That’s great and all, and I’ve got nothing against porn per se, or its wonderful and always classy purveyors, but if I ever need porn I can just find it here. So yeah, books don’t need to be porn anymore. For me, at least. I’m not twelve anymore, looking for brief scenes of euphemistic, white bread sex in unattended Harlequin romances, or clinical textbook descriptions in those ‘where you came from’ type books.
I have heard that this started as a Twilight fanfic and that alone is enough to make my blood run cold. It almost makes me wish I had read the Twilight books to get the whole creepy ‘this is really Bella and Edward’ effect*. But I haven’t so you will have to supply that yourself.
I haven’t worked out a proper schedule of posts yet. It may be whenever, wherever (like Shakira! No, wait. Not like that at all) for awhile. So bear with me, and keep your eyewash handy. I’ll make it worth your while.
*I don’t really wish that. Not ever.