|That's a nice tie.|
She found the Fifty Shades trilogy in her local Oxfam for £1. Yep, a single, solitary pound for all three. Having heard about the books, or rather the furore surrounding them, she thought the covers looked interesting, thought it was a set of books about a fashion designer, and promptly bought them.
She rang me today, which is always funny because she has become so irreverent lately, she tells it exactly how it is.
"These books, these about the grey outfits and whatnot."
"Erm, yes?" (About the WHAT?!!)
"Well, I'm not sure if you have read them but I don't think they are about a fashion designer. "
"Oh, right?" (I'm trying not to laugh at this point.)
"Aye, they're about this two-bit silly bint and her chap. She needs a damn good slap, all that carrying on. There's a lot of what I think is sex in them, but it's nowt like how me and your Grandad used to carry on. Is this what you youths are doing these days? No wonder you have a bad back, with all this monkey business. I'm surprised you can walk!"
I had no words. Not even Fuck seemed appropriate.