50 Shades of First Grade

It was first grade “show & tell.” As you might have guessed I was more of a teller than a show-er.

So I was always jealous of the kids who brought cool things to show. Monty brought some Mexican jumping beans one day. Another day, Clay brought some rattlesnake eggs.

But the most interesting day was when Joanie Holmes brought to school a fun little item. She found it in the top drawer of her mom’s dresser. It was beige, thin and oblong with a button that would make it vibrate. Her mom told her it was a foot massager, so during recess she had several of my classmates lined up with their shoes off and she was using it for its intended purpose.

Mrs. Alley, our first grade teacher, walked by, paused briefly to observe what was happening and turned a shade of white I’ve not seen since.

“Holy Mother of Christ! What in the hell are you doing?” she said as she reached down and grabbed Joan’s “show.”

“Giving massages” said Joan, completely innocent to the fact that something was, well, amiss.

Always a few years behind the curve, I too had no idea at the time that a simple foot massager could have so many other useful purposes.

I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m a little late to the “50 Shades of Grey” conversation. After reading reviews of the book and watching the trailer, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.

According to the Sherwin Williams color wheel at Home Depot, I’m the 49 1/2 shades between porcelain white and marshmallow with a 1/2 dalliance into ecru. Not exactly blockbuster material. BDSM isn’t really in my DNA.

Not that it has always been this way. Without trying to sound overly libidinous, I vaguely recall that I once owned a Marvin Gaye and a Barry White album. I think I sold them in a garage sale when the kids were little and used the proceeds to buy a “Wheels on the Bus” CD.

Still, this 50 shades thing isn’t exactly in my wheelhouse. Bondage, dominance,sadism. I left that behind when my kids outgrew Chuck E Cheese’s and I ain’t going back.

It’s not that my wife isn’t used to a little torture in the bedroom. I left her screaming just the other night…..when my big toe scraped against her shin.

“Ouch,” she screamed. “Would you clip your toenail please? You could puncture a snow tire with that thing!”

Sorry ladies. I’m taken.

If my wife ever does express an interest in torture, however, I’m ready. I’ll just blindfold her and lead her to the laundry room. It’ll probably leave her breathless.

She did introduce me to a fun game of adult hide and seek once. And let me tell you she’s a damn good hider. I didn’t find her until the next day. She cheated a little though. She was hiding at her mom’s house.

I don’t want you to get the impression that I’m just some Puritan. I’ve watched Taxicab Confessions enough times to have a pretty good idea of what the rest of you are doing.

So all I would ask of you is to please, just stop. I’m not interested. I once visited Victoria’s Secret to see whether it might stoke the smoldering fires but it had the opposite effect. I was behind my sunglasses and delicately pawing through a piece of lace the size of a cocktail napkin when I noticed several women trying on some pink sweat pants. You know the kind that say “Juicy” or “Pink” on the rear end. Always one to promote truth in advertising, I wondered aloud whether they might be more appropriately emblazoned with “Think Outside the Bun” or “Unlimited Breadsticks.” No one appreciates my help.

But seriously, I don’t really care to know what goes on behind your closed doors. If you have to read a book or see a movie to figure out how to enjoy your sex life, you must not have a very fertile imagination.

As for me, let’s just say that I’m very likely going to make a run over to Spencer’s Adult Toys later today and pick up a little something. My feet are killing me.