Great. Since I have a hangover, I have something in common with Anastasia now.

 

So after Anastasia’s bender the night before, Señor Creepstalker (not to be confused with Señor Fuckface—that’s José) takes her back to his suite at the Heathman Hotel. He was even nice enough to undress her and tuck her in. Oh, and he gave her orange juice and Advil.

By the way, Anastasia is freakishly into orange juice:

“The orange juice tastes divine. It’s thirst quenching and refreshing. Nothing beats freshly squeezed orange juice for reviving an arid mouth.”

Anastasia, pictured here:

After the inexplicable orange juice commercial, a freshly worked-out Christian walks in to the room, which—of course. Anastasia admires his sweat pants “that hang, in that way, off his hips” and has to compose herself because Christian’s sweat does “odd things” to her. Ew. Also, what way? Does she mean they’re baggy? Baggy pants turn her on? I hereby invite Anastasia to my neighborhood (note: don’t come to my neighborhood, Anastasia).

Anastasia briefly wonders if she and Christian had sex while she was passed out (fyi: that’s rape, Christian, not necrophilia) and when he says no in a naturally douchey way, Anastasia gets pissed that he’s amused at her—I don’t even know why; he wears his doucheyness like a douchey Mexican serape—and calls him out for stalking her like a big stalking stalker.

Then—no lie—Christian fucking Grey calls himself a dark knight.

Christian… pictured here?

 

Okay, look, fucker: I know the Dark Knight. The Dark Knight is a very good friend of mine. You, sir, are no Dark Knight. So

And then, because his prickery has not yet reached critical mass, he tells Anastasia that she’s lucky that he’s scolding her instead of punishing her! Lucky! Fucking lucky!

I’m sorry… did I miss the part where Christian married Anastasia’s mother and became her fucking father? No?

THEN FUCK RIGHT OFF CHRISTIAN IN YOUR NO-DOUBT DOUCHETASTIC FUCKING CAR

Just—where is the part where I fall irrevocably in love with Christian Grey? Because I’ll be honest: it doesn’t look very fucking likely.

At first, Anastasia is as outraged as I am at his presumption, but then her horniness takes over at the thought of being “his” and her brain shrinks two sizes smaller. I’ve had it up to here with this chick’s permissiveness, you guys just don’t know.

Anyway, she finally figures out what desire feels like (*eyeroll*) and muses that Christian is a white knight, which—let me take this opportunity and snort. Bitch, you need to get out more.

She almost masturbates in the shower—if she had, it would’ve made all our lives so much easier—and then puts on brand-new clothes that Christian’s driver/valet/butler/possible future murderer went out to buy her.

“I inspect the bag of jeans. Not only has Taylor brought me jeans and new Converse (reviewer’s despair: NOOOOOOOO! You are not allowed to wear Converse! Converse are for cool people!), but a pale blue shirt, socks, and underwear. Oh my. A clean bra and panties—actually to describe them in such a mundane, utilitarian way does not do them justice. They are an exquisite design of some fancy European lingerie. All pale blue lace and finery. Wow. I am in awe and slightly daunted by this underwear.”

… It’s underwear. Get a fucking grip, lady.

After that, it’s breakfast time!

Breakfast, as so many other things are with these two, is awkward.

Things we learn during breakfast with Christian and Anastasia:

• Anastasia’s hair is very damp.
• Christian Grey buys things because he can.
• Christian Grey doesn’t do romance. (Frankly, I’m shocked.)
• Christian Grey is not celibate. (See above, re: shocked.)
• Kate and Anastasia are moving to Seattle together to continue their romance.
• Christian Grey would like to bite that lip.
• Christian Grey has a helicopter.
• Christian Grey has “an issue” with wasted food.
• Anastasia has a problem with her brain being missing. (Not in the book, just a general observation.)

Anastasia and Christian also negotiate a second “date” in which Anastasia will probably have to sign legal documents. Be still my heart.

After breakfast Anastasia decides to go brush her teeth with Christian Grey’s toothbrush, which actually made me physically ill. I realize it’s not grosser than having someone’s tongue in your mouth, but still… Gross.

And speaking of tongues being in other people’s mouths, the chapter closes with Anastasia and Christian having an admittedly kinda hot first kiss.

… Then Christian talks and ruins the entire thing. As fucking usual.

 

Fucking English, how does it work?

1. “ ‘After you passed out, I didn’t want to risk the leather upholstery in my car taking you all the way to your apartment. So I brought you here,’ he says phlegmatically.”

ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHH. You can say “calmly.” Or “without emotion.” You don’t have to fucking use a word that you thought was clever in the thesaurus just ‘cause. Especially when that fucking word has “phlegm” in it! Fucking dolt.

2. “ ‘Firstly, the technology to track cell phones is available over the Internet. Secondly, my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices, and thirdly, if I hadn’t come to get you, you’d probably be waking up in the photographer’s bed, and from what I can remember, you weren’t overly enthused about him pressing his suit,’ he says acidly.”

Firstly, that still makes you a fucking stalker. Secondly, what does your company do?! And thirdly, NO ONE TALKS THIS WAY. No one who was born after 1899 fucking talks this way. WHO ARE YOU?!

3. “ ‘Well, if you were mine (reviewer’s note: Dude.), you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn’t eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk.’”

… I’m sorry, when exactly did this turn into victim-blaming bullshit?

4. “Hmm… young José. I’ll need to face him at some point. ‘José just got out of line.’ I shrug.”

I have never wanted to slap a fictional character as much as I do right now. And what’s with this “young José” fuckery? What are you, ninety?!

5. “He’s the only man who has ever set my blood racing around my body. Yet, he’s so antagonizing, too; he’s difficult, complicated, and confusing.”

*Antagonistic, you damned twit.

6. “I brusquely towel-dry my hair and try desperately to bring it under control. But, as usual, it refuses to cooperate, and my only option is to restrain it with a hair tie. I shall search in my purse, when I find it.”

Shall you, then?

7. “ ‘I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered a selection from the breakfast menu.’ He gives me a crooked, apologetic smile. ‘That’s very profligate of you,’ I murmur, bewildered by the choice, though I am hungry.”

See, this is why some people shouldn’t be given access to thesauruses. Thesauri. What the fuck ever. STOP USING WORDS YOU DON’T KNOW. WE CAN ALWAYS TELL. FUCK

8. “ ‘Your hair’s very damp,’ he scolds.”

Well, yeah, she just took a shower, genius. Also, I have now had it with fucking Christian fucking scolding people. Asshole.

9. “Where is he going with all these questions? The Christian Grey Inquisition is almost as irritating as the Katherine Kavanaugh Inquisition.”

You’re all fucking irritating to me.

10. “ ‘And what’s wrong with my company?’ ‘Your company or your Company?’ I smirk.”

You’re not witty, Anastasia. Stop trying to be witty.

11. “Holy shit. What does that mean? Does he white-slave small children to some Godforsaken part of the planet?”

12. “I eye Christian’s toothbrush. It would be like having him in my mouth. Hmm… Glancing guiltily over my shoulder at the door, I feel the bristles on the toothbrush. They are damp. He must have used it already. Grabbing it quickly, I squirt toothpaste on it and brush my teeth in double quick time. I feel so naughty. It’s such a thrill.”

Also? EWWWWWWWWWW

13. “ ‘You. Are. So. Sweet,’ he murmurs, each word a staccato.”

Don’t use words you don’t understand, please.

14. “Oh, he’s affected, all right—and my very small inner goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba.”

Fabulous—a new personality.

 

Shut the fuck up, Anastasia

“One minute he rebuffs me, the next he sends me fourteen-thousand-dollar books, then he tracks me like a stalker. And for all that, I have spent the night in his hotel suite, and I feel safe. Protected. He cares enough to come and rescue me from some mistakenly (reviewer’s note: you have GOT to be kidding me) perceived danger. He’s not a dark knight at all, but a white knight in shining, dazzling armor—a classic romantic hero—Sir Gawain or Lancelot.”

 

Christian Grey, Theology Scholar

“ ‘Like Eve, you’re so quick to eat from the tree of knowledge,’ he smirks.”