I have a few friends and acquaintances who are doctors, nurses, and psychiatrists. They swear that a full moon brings out the weirdest cases. When the moon is beaming in all its glory, more babies are born, patients come in with strange and exciting injuries, and the mentally unstable become even more erratic. I believe that it really does affect us, and last weekend there was a supermoon, which was even bigger and brighter than normal. My mom posted something funny on Facebook: “If the moon is 14% bigger and 30% brighter, does that mean that people will act 14-30% crazier?”
Yes. The answer is yes. I, for one, cried off and on for no reason during the entire sewing and construction of a new curtain for my laundry room (4 hours?) and ate a pound of Havarti cheese in one night, which I definitely wouldn’t have done during a waning gibbous or a waxing crescent.
Thank goodness the supermoon is gone, and I’m back to eating smaller amounts of string cheese and crying only during bowel movements.
After the moon weirdness, I had just what I needed today— a fantastic lunch with dear friends. It cheered me right up. We got so loud that the restaurant pulled a partition around us. We might have laughed a little too heartily at anything, but we had especially good fodder today: a couple of ladies in our party had recently finished the book trilogy Fifty Shades of Grey.
If you are alive right now, you’ve probably heard about the books since they currently hold the top three spots on the New York Times Bestseller list, but you may not know what they’re about. I need to inform you immediately: it’s racy mommy porn to the extreme. I haven’t read the books, but I hear the series is quite, umm, hard-core and contains lots of bondage action. Some women have described it as Twilight for grownups — grownups who like s&m. If you don’t know about this series, you might be living in a cocoon. It’s so popular that when a friend walked into Target and said, “I’m looking for this book,…” the sassy cashier cut her off by putting his hand up like, stop right there, girl, and led her directly to the Fifty Shades of Grey section.
It’s important to be aware of the content of these books so you don’t do something like my other friend did. She thought the books were just your regular ol’ candy-for-your-brain bestsellers with tame romance and mild longing between a girl and a vampire/werewolf/hunter. She told her family that she’d like the books for her birthday, so her husband took their five kids WITH PIGGY BANKS IN HAND to buy the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy. I can only imagine the cashier’s horror when the bright-eyed little family Von Trapp (‘cause they look straight out of The Sound of Music) plopped these hard-core sex books onto the counter. My friend is appropriately horrified and just hopes that the older kids didn’t read the book jacket.
It was the mental image of an uncomfortable cashier that prompted me and said friends to go to Target today and gather a Fifty Shades basket full of goodies and dare each other to walk through the check-out with all of it. Lingerie, the three books, lube, a tie, condoms…we even looked for toy handcuffs, but Target has replaced their violent dramatic play isle with learning toys. America’s gone soft, y’all.
We wondered if Target managers would kick out four suburban women, even though two of us were wearing ladies-who-lunch dresses. Anyway, after much debate, we decided that instead of checking out we would leave the basket in a fortuitous isle for someone to stumble upon. We chose the red wine section, of course.
We had a fabulous time with this new hobby we call cart staging. I was just saying on my Facebook page that I need a new hobby, so this is perfect. We plan to create dramatic scenes that will make imaginations run wild, all within the confines of a shopping basket. Hey, this is beginning to sound like high-falutin’ performance art, people. Can I get a grant, please? I can’t promise any regularly scheduled cart staging stories, but maybe we can aim for one every other waxing gibbous moon or something.
So my Kindle is charging, and I have a question: How much chain-whipping does it take to burn off a pound of Havarti?
***Also, some details of this story have been changed to protect the innocent. In fact, I don’t actually have friends, probably because I cry and sew simultaneously. I didn’t even know these people prior to lunch, but when I approached a random grouping of suburban lunching ladies about s&m books and a Target trip, they totally went for it.