Hearts and Flowers and Whips and Chains

Love is in the air.

Hopefully Friday the thirteenth will pass without incident and be all but forgotten as we wake to a weekend filled with chocolate hearts and red roses and pink champagne. And, topping off the romantic frenzy of Valentine's Day, the long anticipated opening of Fifty Shades of Grey.  

My heart swells just thinking about it -- me, alone in the back corner of a dark theatre, munching on the chocolates I purchased for myself, a rose tucked behind my ear, sipping cheap champagne through a straw. Despite the frigid temperatures outside, I will be dressing light for my evening at the movies, prepared for a sweat far more incapacitating than your average hot flash.

I never read any of the Grey books, in part because I was told the writing was really bad, and in part because I have little imagination and the books have no pictures so, really, what's the point. Although, come to think of it, in my experience pictures can be a real buzz kill. Maybe computer dating sites would be much more satisfying without pictures, without, in fact, ever having to move beyond the anonymous banter on a screen.

The other day, when I laid out my basic "rest of my life" plan for a friend -- to see Fifty Shades of Grey and to never again sign on to a computer dating site -- she thought I was being unduly pessimistic. About the dating sites anyway. "Have you tried Farmers Only yet?" She had a point. "And, you know, there's actually a cougar site now." Intriguing, but I think I'm better off with the farmers. I am well past my cougar prime, and I think I'd be better off in the long run with a plain old farmer, even if he smells a bit like manure.

Just for fun, we tried to find the cougar site. We were redirected to a website called milfs-r-us or something like that, which did not seem to contain any pictures of menopausal milfs in their fifties (grand-milfs?), which I found a bit discriminatory. In fact, the first eye-catching promotion featured a picture of an unnaturally buxom thirty-something blond with the tagline "[Bleep] hot older women in POTWIN." Older than what, I'm not sure, but I was intrigued by POTWIN. Spelled out in all caps, I assumed it was an anagram for some unimaginable sexual position. We Googled POTWIN. As it turns out, it's a city in Kansas. A city in Kansas that boasts lots of interesting things to see and do, none of which involve "bleeping" sex starved moms. Although there is a pottery class, and who knows what they do while the clay hardens.

But back to thoughts of romance and a ticket to Fifty Shades. I have been told the book is un-put-downable, despite the dismal prose. I have also been told it's a love story. Okay. I am certainly no expert. I suppose there's a lid for every pot, a wrist for every handcuff. I wonder if the farmers like to rope their women. I wonder what really goes on behind the white picket fences of POTWIN.

Well, something is in the air this weekend, even if it's not really love. Maybe it's just the exhaust fumes from all the snow plows. I'll probably save the chocolate and champagne for bedtime, and just go with popcorn for the movie. Extra butter of course. It's Valentine's Day, and I'm going to make the most of it.