Lately I’ve been accosted by numerous co-workers trying to entice me into reading the latest crazy “50 Shades of Grey”. They look at me with glazed eyes, talking about some person named Christian as I slowly back away. And no. No, I will not read this book. I will never ever read this book. I will scream this from the rooftops and punch the next person who asks me that in the teeth. I would rather watch a unicorn hump a dolphin.
I have nothing against those who read this book. I don’t wish you ill will but leave me out of it. Taking any rants out of my argument about how it demeans women, it’s still not for me. “But how do you KNOW?” those have wailed at my feet with regards to “50 Shades of Grey”, “How do you really know unless you read?”
Oh. Believe me. I know.
1. It’s a fad
I am behind the game, mostly in terms of life and I don’t mind that. I’m the girl who just now discovered the 2012 Pantone color is Tangerine Tango and had no idea what to do with this information as the Sephora sales clerk painted my lips clownish orange.
Getting sucked into a fad pains me. Hard. And I’m not claiming to be a hipster; I’ve just never been with it in terms of pop culture or coolness or fashion sense.
Plus, I really hate getting in on something that everyone is ga-ga for. I don’t like talking to people on a normal basis, what makes you think I want to discuss The Big Bang Theory with you at the water cooler?
I WANT TO BE UNCOMFORTABLY DIFFERENT, DAMN IT.
I just now am reading “Hunger Games”. It took me years to get to “Harry Potter”. I’ll admit, I did read “Twilight”. Hell, sometimes you need a good escape but this is one fad I can’t get into because…
2. Bad writing
I’m not claiming to be a literary scholar. Typically I’m not a snobby reader. Hell, I read the Sweet Valley Confidential and it curled my fucking toes, people. That Francine Pascal is a goddamn goddess. But I read it because it was pure nostalgia. I didn’t read it with a straight face but I liked it.
But this. This.
Twilight was horribly written. Yes, good plot, entertaining as hell, but poorly written. And still do you know how many times people have said to me, a scoff on their face, “But I don’t read “50 Shades” for the romance…”
So, horribly aghast, I ask – THEN WHY? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD…
Why, if not for the romance, then why waste the time? Clearly, it’s not for the prize-winning writing. This book doesn’t have anything else going for it other than kinky sex and glorifying some controlling man who treats his woman like a piece of meat (Ditto to Edward in Twilight). This book was not written for merit and that’s fine, but own that. Just read it, get hot and bothered while the kids watch TV and have your fun. That’s not wrong. You’re entitled to that; I’d rather read “Justine” by the Marquis de Sade and get a little culture going alongside side my sadistic nature.
Because if there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s…
3. The Romance
THIS is the real reason I will not read “50 Shades” and probably the most valid of them all.
Reading romance or sex scenes turns me into a 5-year-old. “Tee-hee a penis!” I’m not a prude. Sex scenes in movies, yes please. But reading any sort of hot and heavy, fanciful, flowery scenes make me cringe and giggle and blush.
I just don’t dig the genre.
Seriously, just reading the excerpts from Jezebel make me want to strangle myself with the cords from my window blinds. Strangle in the non-kinky way, mind you.
To quote “50 Shades…” “Argh!” I cry as I feel a weird pinching sensation deep inside me as he rips through my virginity.”
Can I – Can I just unread this? Please? This does not turn me on. I’m not the romantic or BDSM or whatever else they’re calling this these days. Look people, I’m the girl who canceled the anniversary gift I got from my husband – a couples massage—because it creeped her out.
I’m the girl who when my husband tells me he ran me a bath I suspiciously ask why.
I’m the girl who skips the romantic scenes in books only to wonder why the main female character is now pregnant five pages later.
I can’t do romance. Maybe I have MaxDuplication issues. In any case, I’ll save the money and let the TV show American Horror Story diagnose my sorry ass.
I guess, what I’m trying to say is that in the end, I just can’t stomach romance and bad writing when it comes to this book. In less elegant words, I’d rather look at a t-shirt of these pigs fucking.