When Your Grandmother Reads Fifty Shades of Grey

My grandmother called the other day to wish me a Happy New Year. The Jewish kind. She’s not senile. But she might be horny, because she told me that she’s on the third Fifty Shades of Grey book. And then she giggled. Since I can’t un-know this information, I need to do the next best thing … tell everyone this information. My grandmother is devouring the Fifty Shades of Grey books and I can’t stop thinking about it. In fact, my sister told me that she asked my grandmother if she wanted to have lunch with her and the kids the other day and my grandmother told her that she couldn’t because she couldn’t put down her book. It’s simple math. My grandmother’s into bondage.

I have not read Fifty Shades of Grey. Or, the second and third books: Fifty Shades of Greyer: A Lot of Grey and Fifty Shades of Greyest: The Most Grey Possible. Those might not be the right titles. My grandmother, mother and sister, however, have read them. Which is why I’ll likely never read this trilogy. Because while I’m an ummm … let’s just say, a fairly sexual girl (you guys, I’m a tremendous whore), I now know, for a fact, that I will only see these books through their eyes. And I will be metaphorically blinded.

My grandmother, my mother and my sister. This is the worst trifecta ever, the unholiest of trinities, my new definition of The Rule of Threes. Which basically goes something like this – If my grandmother, my mother and my sister have all read the same erotica, I’m going to pass on reading said erotica. Oh my god, what if my grandmother went back and reread certain parts!? You know what I’m saying. Agghhhh! I need to be The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind-ed right now! I feel like if I read the same erotic novels that my family’s reading, I will turn into a pillar of salt. Which is what really happened to Lot’s wife. It had nothing to do with turning around and looking at the city of Sodom itself. If you google this incident a little further, and throw in a little Wikipedia for good measure, you’ll see that it was way more specific what happened to her that day. Lot’s wife had actually turned around because she realized that she had left her copy of Fifty Shades of Grey under her Tempur-Pedic pillow and she was about to go back to get it, because she NEEDED it. It was at this moment that she saw her grandmother, as topless as Kate Middleton, reading that very copy of Fifty Shades of Grey under a Clementine-Blood Orange Hybrid Tree. Seeing her topless grandmother reading her jacked copy of Fifty Shades of Grey– turned that girl into a pillar of salt faster than you can say, “Ew, my grandmother is reading my sex book.” It’s like, if you want to get deep about it, her grandmother cockblocked her from ever being able to read that book, again. So unfair. Incidentally, this is where the term “cockblocked” actually comes from. As she was turning into a pillar of salt (which I hear is about as much salt as is in most Trader Joe’s pre-packaged food items) she yelled in her grandmother’s direction, “Such a cockblock!!!” And then poof, she was a pillar of salt. By the way, I hear, and this is just hearsay, that her grandmother stared at her now pillar of salt granddaughter and shouted back, “I guess this means I can keep the book?!”

In writing this I’m realizing … hey, what if I’m jealous? What if I want to read Fifty Shades of Grey and my grandmother, my mother and my sister have taken that away from me? Will I ever get to a place where I can be comfortable knowing that my grandmother, my mother and my sister and I have all read and imagined the same hardcore sex scenes? How many hours of pre-reading Fifty Shades of Grey therapy do I need to prepare for this shared family erotica experience? There must be others out there like me. 4-8-15-16-23-42? The Others, the ones who realized the women in their family all read this damn book before they did. Look, maybe it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. I mean, it’s not like my grandmother dreamed up and wrote Fifty Shades of Grey. By the way, Grandma, if your pseudonym is E.L. James, please never tell me. You know what? Thanks to my grandmother, my mother and my sister I’m not going to read the books. I’m going to just live the books. That’s right, while you three ladies are all caught up in the trilogy that is Fifty Shades of Grey on the page, I’ll be out there living it! You can’t take that away from me!

Wait a minute …

*Note: No Clementine-Blood Orange Hybrid Trees were harmed during the writing of this column. Mainly because there’s no such tree. Yet.