I didn’t run out and buy the second book after I read Fifty Shades of Grey. But a friend had a copy of Fifty Shades Darker (Book II) and I spent part of Wednesday in a lounge chair. Poolside.
My afternoon plan? To flip over once in a while. A few cat naps. Some snacking. Maybe a dip in the pool now and again when I got hot.
I had the time and the book. So I began Darker…
But I stopped at the vanilla ice cream scene.
Or what I call The Ice Cream Social. It was ‘social’ in that there was interaction between Mr. Grey, Miss Steele and a tub of ice cream.
(In my family, we jokingly refer to such interactions as ‘social time’ or ‘socializing’)
At 41, I’m probably too old for The Ice Cream Social. Though I know it’s supposed to be steamy. And I know I lack focus, but I couldn’t stay with that scene. Could NOT get past who was cleaning up the mess.
Maybe The Ice Cream Social fantasy is kind of like the beach. Seems romantic, until you get sand in places sand wasn’t meant to be…
In my world, if somebody saunters into the bedroom with a tub of ice cream—they best have two spoons. Maybe even a couple of bowls.
And the flavor is NOT vanilla, unless there is a side of hot fudge sauce.
My (future) dreamboat should take note: mint chocolate chip, chocolate swirl, black raspberry, strawberry, whatever. Anything more fun than vanilla–Unless the vanilla has toppings…
And I think I would rather eat my bowl of ice cream out outside. On a deck or porch. Preferably before or after ‘social time.’ There’s no call to fling ice cream about the bedroom. Or let a perfectly good tub melt on the nightstand and/or run down the side of it. For ice cream to (potentially) drip into the carpet fibers. Making the carpet stink anytime the weather gets humid. For years to come.
I mean, the author never said WHAT Mr. Grey did with the tub of ice cream. I doubt he spared a moment to run it back to the freezer. And he surely didn’t hang onto it while ‘socializing?’ Or tuck it under his arm like a football?
Mr. Grey, with his turmoil, trauma and difficulties isn’t the man of my dreams.
He’s far too complicated to appeal to me. The drama would drain me. I’d be perpetually exhausted, my stomach tied in knots.
Yes. I need there to be chemistry. And that’s either there or it’s not. But there can be plenty of chemistry, without all the gut twisting agony.
My future dreamboat has a sense of humor, is kind to children (even teenagers), animals, family and friends. He accepts me as I am, as I would accept him as he is. Easy to laugh. Difficult to anger. A man who can roll with what life deals him (and us). And maybe see the humor in it? Or at least try to?
Maya Angelou is definitely onto something…
Anyways, this paragon wouldn’t mind eating meals at a new dining table every couple of months–or every couple of weeks. And he would enjoy (or at least tolerate without complaint) car rides and long road trips with The Red Dog’s head on the console.
Alas, my future fella need not fly about in helicopters, or drive fancy cars as Mr. Grey does. I have no great desire to eat on rooftops. Or to attend flashy parties.
From the examples of normal, healthy relationships I’ve seen, when a relationship is ‘right’ it is simple. On some intrinsic level, it just works.
I’m just not understanding all the fuss surrounding Mr. Grey and Miss Steele. Or The Ice Cream Social. Or their relationship….
I am at a crossroads with Fifty Shades Darker.
Do I keep reading and hope it gets better? Or find something else to do with my time?