Chick Wit: Fifty Shades of are you serious?

I didn’t find Fifty Shades of Grey all that kinky. Say that at your next family reunion and you’ll pretty much silence a room of 40 people. I know. I did it. I silenced my entire family last month when I said, in casual conversation, that the content of Fifty Shades wasn’t as twisted as I’d imagined. (What? Don’t y’all talk about sex books at your family reunion?)

Seriously, I'm clearly hanging out at the wrong family's reunions.

The truth is that there was so much hype leading up to my reading these books that the actual “kinky f^@$ery”, as Christian and Ana call it, was just kind of blah to me. Honestly, I was more taken aback by the fact that she could walk on any given day since the story had the happy-yet-emo couple bumping uglies no less than four times. I also wondered why in the world EL James (author) could write such intimate details about their trysts in the elevator, (and the living room and the closet and her office) but never mentioned that they “cleaned up.” Not even a roll of tell-tale toilet paper was placed by their bed. Or in the elevator. Or on the boat. Or in the car. Good grief, I hope they cleaned up!

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I married a smart man

The Dad is a smart man.  Some days (most days?) I forget this little tidbit.  Yesterday, however, I was reminded just how smart he is.

When The Dad and I were first married, we reach an agreement about our marital bed.  Whoever is the last one out of it in the mornings would make it.  I interpreted this to mean that if The Dad gets out of bed before I do (which is six and a half mornings out of seven), I'll make the bed once I get out of it.  Alternately, if The Dad finds himself still in our bed snoozing after I get out of bed, then he would make the bed.  Easy, huh?