Fifty Shades of What the Fuck?

So there's this book, this Fifty Shades of Gray book, that everybody is talking about.  My friend T-Rex's friends, mainly 20-30 year olds, are gushing with how much they love it, but the internet has accused it of being completely awful.

"Mommy porn" is one way I've heard it described.

Not for nothing, but my friend Melissa has told me that you can download your fill of porn books on the kindle, if that's your thing.  I gather it is a little like reading the letters of Penthouse, or those goddamn "Silhouette" romance novels I read when I was twenty, while I drank wine coolers.

What's going on here?  I mean, I couldn't even watch "The 40 Year Old Virgin" because I got sort of grossed out by the concept and the scene with the morning wood.  Perhaps I am a giant prude.

Rather unrelated, for Mother's Day, Beanie bought me (his newly single mother) a giant "body pillow," that just so happens to have a slightly furry, black pillowcase on it.  I like to call it Tyrone.  I have lots of fun thoughts about the baby reporting how "mommy sleeps with Tyrone every night," and how he himself "wikes to cuddle Tyrone."

This is the good life.

Additionally, my other son made me a card, as one does in Kindergarten, shaped like a teapot.  Inside, he had taped a bag of tea.

"I picked out what kind of tea to give you.  I gave you 'Sweet Dweams' so you can sweep a wong, wong time."

Holy shit.  It's arsenic tea.

Sweet and creepy, all at once.

My daughter-in-faux, being a girl, did up a really nice basket, with a journal and a notepad and some bits of jewelry and a pretty soap, with a dragonfly on it.  Perfection.  Girls rock.

And...  I'm just going to throw it out here... my birthday is in two days.  I'm actually turning 37, but I think I'll claim 32.  I feel sure I can get away with that.