With all the recent hubbub about 50 Shades of Grey, I thought I’d write about how Christian Grey’s red room is not unlike my red pile. If you haven’t read the 50 Shades books or seen the 50 Shades movie, the red room, sometimes referred to as the red room of pain, is well… it’s where… umm… it’s where all the S&M stuff occurs between Christian and Anastasia. There, I said it with a simple acronym so I didn’t really have to come out and say it. Now if you don’t know what S&M stands for, let me just say, Google with caution (i.e., For Pete’s sake, don’t Google S&M at work).
While the 50 Shades’ Anastasia character is all enthralled with Christian’s red room of pain, I get to experience the shrill thrill of the red pile of pain. What is the red pile you ask? That would be one of my (many) laundry piles separated by color, material stamina, and label instructions. Yep, the secret is out, I have a red pile. The red pile is made up of clothes with red, pink, orange, fuchsia, magenta, etc. shades (50 shades of red, anyone??).
So how do I figure the red room and red pile have anything in common? Let’s explore, shall we?
Both are associated to pain. I’ll refrain from including anything about pain and the red room, but if you’re the one in your household who is tasked with doing the laundry, yes, it’s a pain! I’d say pain in the ass, but then we’re getting way too close to the red room discussion. Oh, whoops, did I just say it anyway?
Both are associated to pleasure. I know, I’m pushing it, but I’m figuring you can get pleasure out of ensuring your family’s clothes are clean. <–Did I just write this??
You just want to get it over with. I’m making the assumption of course that you’d just want to get it over with in the red room. Right? Right? Someone tell me if I’m right.
I’m sure there’s 50 shades of somthin’ somthin’ going on in the red room, while there are definitely 50 shades of red going on in the red pile. See? I don’t need no stinking 50 shades of grey.
They’re both dirty. After messing with either one of them, you really want to get out the hand sanitizer.
Their presence just looms, no matter how hard you try to forget about it, or if you attempt to lock it up tight or hide it.
If an item were to escape from either, embarrassing moments are likely. Red room: Mom, what is this whip thing? Red pile: Mom! My white shirt is now pink!!
Maybe you think you’re done with it, but you have to keep going back for more. Anastasia keeps going back for more. And somehow, someway, the red laundry pile always comes back.
See? I’m not even missing out on the movie experience. I have my own form of “red” pain right here at home.