Shades of Weak
In a totally unshocking turn of events, Shades of Grey has become a vacation theme. There is only one problem. The helicopter rides and champagne are not why the ladies love Christian Grey and imagine themselves Anastasia Steele. (Porn stars come up with more believable names.)
Nota bene: I gave the wife a copy for Mother’s Day. I figured it was the perfect gift for a really pregnant woman on a day celebrating motherhood. Her opinion of the book is less glowing than others. She, being spoiled, was genuinely confused when another woman told her to read it with a vibrator handy. “But, I have Ulysses. . .” “No, you’ll want the battery powered friend.” “Whatever, chick.” Her sister had to explain it to her, “Your husband actually satisfies you.”
And therein lies the rub (hehehehe). If you’re not throwing down the gauntlet, then an overpriced hotel, champagne, and a trip around the block in an Audi is only going to make things worse. Why build up an edifice of pomp and circumstance that’s going to end with you sheepishly asking, “Can I make love to you now?”
Skip all the extraneous baubles, throw your woman down, and take control. She doesn’t want to be Anastasia for the helicopter, she wants to be Anastasia for the surrender.