GALLOPIN’ GRANDMA: Fifty Shades of I could care less

By on March 18, 2015
Gallopin’ Grandma at age 11 being waterboarded in some weird Nebraska ritual. (Photo credit: Jean Webber)

Gallopin’ Grandma at age 11 being waterboarded in some weird Nebraska ritual. (Photo credit: Jean Webber)

Jackson Hole, Wyoming – Once upon a time there was an especially luscious praying mantis named Iris. She was tall and slim and green and all the guys were nuts about her. Mantis guys are sort of small and brown and dull and addicted to dangerous women, for Iris was dangerous. One date with her and you wouldn’t get another because she had a nasty habit of eating her boyfriends. It was like, “let’s go out to lunch, and by the way, you are lunch, and before I kill you and eat you, could you pass the mashed potatoes.” It didn’t matter. Iris had a fatal charm and guys could not get enough of her, and she was always hungry for more of them.

I am reminded of this because the latest rage among young women is a very dumb book and equally stupid movie about some guy who likes to tie them up and make them miserable. Like those mantis morons, they are supposed to like it and it gets exciting, or so the book insists.

I was thinking about 50 Shades of Grey when I looked at my hair in the mirror, and because I have not gotten to Mr. Ramone, my hairdresser, I indeed saw all 50 shades. He is absent from his job at the Walmart Beauty Center because he has a hangnail, but I hope he will be back soon.

I would like to tell all those hysterical readers that if you want to be humiliated and miserable to forget the movie and book and just stay home. I know you are all young and dumb but just wait, your day of degradation and bondage will come. For example, let’s say it is about 6 a.m. and you are standing in the kitchen in your ratty flannel nightie with baby slobber on the shoulder and coffee stains down the front. Your husband is sick in bed and, being a man, the angel of death is hovering over him. You are out of coffee, the kids have dumped cereal all over the floor and they are screaming that they lost their homework and they think that the teacher has called off school for the week.

The day progresses and your mother-in-law calls to say that she is coming for lunch. Actually, she justs wants to snoop around and see if she can find the hideous Christmas gift she gave you, a life-sized portrait of her which you are now using as a dart board in the basement. Wait, there is more humiliation to come.

There are school conferences, and the teachers really want to see you. You finally find your one pair of decent shoes and the dog has eaten one and thrown up on the other. You will attend the eighth grade orchestra concert and find out your little one can play the violin and give someone the finger at the same time. As she is in the front row everyone sees her and you will not be able to tell anyone whose mother you are for years.

I could go on and on but maybe I do understand this: perhaps being tied up in a knot and tangled in chains is more fun than no coffee, a sick husband or having to volunteer as a lunch lady. Anyway, Mr. Ramone is back and my 50 shades of grey will being going away soon.

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