Hi. I’m Lindsay. When I blog, usually do it in the voice of “Elle,” my character on Love Kabob. Today, we’re going to change it up a bit because I’m the one being asked this question. Lots. If you’re a person who likes both movies and sex (I feel this is a safe space in which to reveal that I am such a person), you should be salivating at the thought of watching Jamie Dornan “liberate” Dakota Johnson from the prison of not having rough sex with Jamie Dornan. I know I’m supposed to be titillated, but…meh. Yes, playful restraints, orders, blindfolds – even a little pain – are all fun in bed; however, if you’re only enjoying those things during sex, you’re completely missing out. Luckily, I don’t miss out on anything. I don’t care to see Fifty Shades of Greybecause, as a woman under the age of forty, I’m living Fifty Shades of Grey, baby. Every. Day.
Who doesn’t love being told what to do? It’s hot. Don’t mean to brag, but the entire Capitol building in Washington is full of rich, older men, writing and debating laws that are basically legislative love cuffs for me! They’re obsessed! Can I be trusted with over-the-counter birth control? What about a vaccine that prevents HPV? Can I be trusted to accurately report a rape? Do I have a right to terminate a pregnancy just because, like, maybe the Supreme Court said something that one time? Whose permission (meaning “husband,” “father,” “congressman,” or other boss of me) should I have to get before any of these are okay? What information (or misinformation) should I be given (or confused/manipulated by) first?
These lawmakers are not only good with restraints. There are days I can barely get the phrase “majority whip” out of my head because they’re not shy when it comes to inflicting pain. “Equal pay for equal work? Not today, Gorgeous. Don’t bother me while I’m funneling the taxes from your seventy percent of a paycheck into an oil pipeline that’ll destroy the environment.” Ouch, Senator Daddy.
Washington would be enough to keep this kitty purring all day, but I was also blessedly born Catholic. That means that there is a whole country inside another country (Hot!) that churns with two millennia of restrictions, instructions, and punishments for naughty girls. Contrary to popular belief, the Vatican does give us choices. It’s like one of those websites for sexy Halloween costumes. You can dress up as a nun, a bride, or a whore. These costumes also come in “pregnant’ versions for the girls who mess up the 100%-effective rhythm method of choosing their choices.
Still not convinced? I know what you’re thinking: “But, Lindsay, when these institutions get out their satin blindfolds – forcing you to put your enjoyment of healthcare and financial security into their big, strong, manly hands – they aren’t doing anything to you that they don’t do to all the girls. Their attentions are spread so thin. You can’t possibly be satisfied?”
Au contraire (Some sexy French talk for ya). When you’re a woman under the age of forty, it seems there is always a man nearby waiting to play a love game. As a daily occurrence, strangers announce their judgement of my outfit and my body. Men routinely demand to teach me how to drive – despite the fact that I have never in my life expressed an interest in learning to operate a motor vehicle. Helpful, anonymous doms will offer to take charge of my form at the gym, my smiling (or lack of same), my cell phone (so he can make sure I get his contact info right), and whether I “need that” lipgloss I’m applying. Despite their field of expertise, some men need only ten minutes to move seamlessly from introducing themselves at a party, to offering career advice, then to bristling when that advice isn’t taken. That’s prowess! For example, just a couple months ago, I was on a first date with a personal trainer four years my junior. He actually paused in the middle of dinner and – over my protests – called his best friend, who had once worked as a PA on a reality show, to ask her to give me advice on digitally marketing Love Kabob. Do production assistants often double as marketing executives? It doesn’t matter. The way he just took control of the show I create, write, direct, and produce was so condescendingly sexy that I had a hard time never returning another of his calls.
It’s flattering, all this peacocking to get me hot and bothered. I had always assumed the ardor would cool after I passed the age of thirty, but it hasn’t! No – men have endurance! They can go all night. In fact, I’m thinking maybe a cutoff at age forty is too soon. Will fifty be the age that people assume I have my sh*t together? Fifty does seem to be the age at which women act on their own dominatrix urges and start offering me directives on the length of my skirt, the cut of my blouse, the height of my heels, cursing, drinking, and dating – especially with regard to the age and profession of potential suitors (which, I guess, makes it a ménage à trois).
Anyway, the constant romantic overtures have me exhausted – physically, emotionally, and also patience-wise. I’ll skip Fifty Shades, using the couple hours I save to- Well, maybe I’d better keep it to myself. I’m sure there’s some way I could do it better, wearing more appropriate shoes. I’m sure someone would like to do it for me – or pay for it as a generous gift…but I don’t feel like flirting right now.