Master, Cleanse Me

I haven’t read any of the FIFTY SHADES books for a couple of reasons.

I like listing articles—I really do. I like “Three Ways to Have the Hottest Sex Possible While Filing Last Year’s Taxes.” I like “Six Sure-Fire Methods to Get Your Surly Teen to Say, ‘Sir’ and ‘Ma’am’ Without Knocking Out Any Of His Teeth.”

But fifty shades? Who has time for that? Multiply it by three for the trilogy, and those books have 150 shades to wade through—masochism!

Not—I admit—that I know much about masochism. Point a gun at me and ask me what BDSM stands for and I will tell you “bi-directional sado-masochism.” My author friend, Seleste Delaney, tried to explain what that letter soup meant. All I retained was that the “m” is for Mastery (not masochism).

Ahhh. Mastery! Master! Master Cleanse!

Now we’re entering familiar territory. I’ve been hearing about Master Cleanses for ages, and I confess, I’m intrigued. The concept is this—you spend several days living on hot lemon water filled with cayenne pepper and a little honey (or some similar concoction if you buy the stuff off the drugstore shelf) After a brief, hazy period of digestive hell, you come away with dewy skin, a lithe figure and at least ten pounds of weight loss.

Proponents of this program say the secret to the master cleanse is…well…the cleansing of the colon. According to them, we’re all carrying around tons of unpooed poo, and if we cleanse it (masterfully) we’ll lose all that pesky weight.

I LOVE that idea (even if I don’t believe it.) All I have to do is spend a few days communing with nature (in my own home, of course—you know how I feel about public facilities) and I’ll rid myself of the 25 pounds I’ve put in on the decade since my second son was born.

Sure, it will be noisy, smelly and painful. Masochistic, even.

But think of all the reading I could get done. 150 Shades? Easy-peasy.