Yesterday we did secret santa at work. The idea behind our secret santa is to spend no more than five pounds and it’s usually something funny or mickey taking. Some colleagues spend all year watching and waiting for the rest of us to say or do something ridiculous in preparation for this time. Even though I write, I find I don’t have much imagination when it comes to the task of secret santa buying, It’s not something I relish at all. It’s also quite an odd feeling about what others will find funny and who won’t.
Anyway, this year I have been quite vocal on the topic of not reading Fifty Shades Of Grey. I’ve point blank refused to jump on the bandwagon. I don’t read raunchy for raunchy sake anyway, and after hearing about men wanting women to sign contracts and being told what to eat, I got on my high horse about intelligent women reading this and still fancying the main character. All said without having read a word.
Well, after that, you can easily guess what my secret santa brought me this year can’t you?
Yes, I have my very own copy of Fifty Shades of Grey!
Now, do I read it? Skim it? Or stick to my own reading habits and leave a brand new book untouched in my house?
What a decision. Maybe someone should have gifted me a contract telling me what to do as well.