Fifty Shades of Flannel Chapter 12

Christian and I sped away from our lunch, and towards the Michael's Craft store on Columbus Avenue.

I was beginning to understand why New York was viewed as the ultimate city by so many: where else could you find Donald Trump, progressive Montessori schools where children only spoke Latin, and the world's largest purveyor of crafts? Nowhere else, I tell you!

We alighted from the car (when we could have just gotten out), and I strode with purpose and fortitude towards the door.

We were on my turf now. These were my people.

I took my Lanz pocket square and efficiently wiped the handle of the cart I had selected.

Why, may I ask, are you doing that? Christian seemed weaker and unsure of himself. Ah, the power of Michaels.

Germs, my friend. Are you aware that the average Target or Kmart shopping cart handle has Ebola virus, HIV, HPV, and a trace of Calgon Minted Lemon lotion- gross!

Christian looked distressed as we headed towards the decorative accessories section.

I knew exactly what I was looking for.

Christian looked overwhelmed.

Welcome to my world, Mr. Grey, I thought happily.

He looked as if he had stumbled into a wonderland, or the changing room of the Chippendales. He touched an indigo pottery vase.

You mean, a person…not a decorator…can actually buy all of this? Do you need to be a professional interior designer to purchase here? He wandered awestruck through the vase aisle and appeared to steady himself in the frame section.

But…but I was told that I needed a decorator to be able to obtain accessories: vases, frames, knick-knacks, bric a brac.

I stopped and turned towards him.

Listen; don't make me punch you in the nose. Although I know that's probably another one of your "things." Of course you don't need a decorator. They all come here! Well, here and TJ Maxx HomeGoods. But they don't want you to know that. And as a pal, let me say, please drop "bric a brac" and "knick knack" from your vocabulary. It ain't helping.

He looked suitably sober as we rounded a corner to a long row of glass jars with cork stoppers.

Start grabbing, I said as I took three jars of varying sizes and put them in the cart.

Christian did as instructed- the master was now the servant.

We need as many sizes as possible. And let's grab some pink spray paint while we're at it. We want to make them appealing, I instructed.

Moving quickly and with fluid motion (ew), he gathered and stacked. And I'm talking about the jars here.

We took our place in the checkout line and I could see his mind was calculating.

Mrs. Steele, I have to admire your resourcefulness. We will spend approximately ninety seven dollars on an effort I had budgeted $53,000 for. Our profit margin, when we launch, could well be 900%. What is your plan for testing?

My stomach lurched. As blithely as I had spoken of the Lady Cork, I hadn't really truly thought about it's…introduction into...or to actual ladies.

I assume you have a plan for test subjects: how to recruit, compensate, evaluate.

My confidence was fading fast. I couldn't solicit friends, "Hey Francine, put this in your hoo haw and tell me how it goes," I'd be the pariah of the carpool line. Like that Mom in the tennis skirt who spent 10 minutes headfirst in her Escalade trunk. It was more than anyone should see.

She's gonna need a medium to large Lady Cork, by the way.

I had to find someone with access to a lot of ladies. And their parts. And bits. And…I had it!

Christian, call Dr. Wellsworth at once. We need to meet with her ASAP. Tell her my pants will be on. It's my brain she'll have access to today.

He looked admiringly at me as I handed over my coupons.

Let the corking begin.